A Better Place
by FeistyFeist
Summary: When one story ends with disastrous consequences, Ponyboy Curtis is sent back to Tulsa where he finds a bad reputation, a psychic and another story waiting for him.
1. A Prologue

_Disclaimer: SE Hinton owns, cursing, dark subject matter, etc. _

_This is a sequel to Wild World…so if you haven't read that…yeah. Go read it._

A Prologue

OoO

I haven't seen my brothers in six months.

It's not for lack of trying. Although I'm sure Darry would probably want to argue that the next time we see each other.

The last two years it seems like I've been on the lam, always chasing down a story. Cherry Hills put it in my blood. I haven't been able to give writing up. There were times when I couldn't pick up a pen, and now that's all I can do. After Cherry Hills, Nick and I kept getting Max his usual if-it-bleeds-it-leads stories. They never were as good as Nurse Wilkes and Cherry Hills but they were stories. We were writing. I can't really remember what the articles were all about…my memory's fuzzy now.

But we cracked the news. Nick and I, we're good at our jobs. So good in fact that I left school for the second time in my life.

I'm still employed by the Tulsa World. I'm a junior reporter. Only now, 1,400 miles way, I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever get back.

If I die here, Max will never let me hear the end of it.

OoO

There were times when I didn't think I'd make it to 20 years old. Today's no exception.

I'm proud of myself. Any hang-ups I had in the past with the pills, they're done with. But I've traded them for other things. Other just-as-dangerous things. I've never used my head, but now, I do it less often. I take risks with my writing. I love the chase, solving the unanswered questions.

Soda keeps telling me I'm not a detective but I don't agree. I just wield a pen instead of a gun.

Being at Cherry Hills made me realize just how much I love to write. How much I want to _right_ things. I can't fix everything, but I have to try.

So, Nick and I got an assignment from Max. It brought us out east and the shit we've stumbled into is movie-worthy.

Everything in my life has changed but so much is still the same.

Darry and Liz live together again. It should be any day now before he puts a ring on her finger. Before I left for this assignment I was living at the house. It took some time to convince me to stay when she moved back in again. Wrecking their second try wasn't something I wanted to particularly claim.

Darry's still Darry. But he's lightened and loosened over the year thanks to Liz. She makes him smile and calms him down. Sometimes I can't believe they almost never made it.

Liz is good to me. Sometimes too good, and I'm afraid she's trying to make up for the past. It was my fault, my mistake when I took those pills. She got caught up in something she didn't know how to handle. It wasn't fair. Now she fusses, won't let me move out, cooks, cleans. Darry jokes that he wonders who she's really dating, and then she'll give me that look that says everything: she still feels guilty. She may have the most sense out of anyone because she doesn't trust me completely.

Hell, sometimes I still don't trust myself. Especially now.

Darry got his associates degree and took out a loan to open his own construction firm. He's taking on a lot these days – possible wife, new job, his own business – but he's happy. Finally, he has his own life. It took a while to get there but it's his. If you ask him that – and sometimes I do because I'm so goddamned relieved – he rolls his eyes and declares that Soda and I were all that mattered.

It took him a long time to get over Cherry Hills; an event that has lodged itself into all of our minds. At first – about three months after I was home –he was checking my room. My sock drawer. The pockets of my jeans. He always seemed slightly on edge, as if he was just waiting for the ball to drop.

I can't blame him for that. But eventually, he lost that wary look. Began to breathe easier. Therapy brought us closer, made him softer. He may not get me all the time but he listens. He tries so hard.

Except now.

He and Soda always took my job in stride, accepting the fact that I worked part-time at the paper and went to school. But then…well, six months ago I dropped out of community college (with a little persuasion from Max) to chase the lead out east and Darry's royally pissed.

Soda keeps telling me he'll get over it but I ain't so sure I believe him. On a good day – when Darry'll actually take my phone call – he just grunts and answers my questions. I understand. He's upset. It's a big change for both of us. Liz acts as peacekeeper, another way she tries to make up for the past.

Speaking of Soda…Soda's still Soda. Soda's still single.

He and Steve live in that apartment downtown. He dated a girl last year, a Shelley, and they were hot and heavy until suddenly they weren't. Unlike his breakup with Sandy this time he wasn't sad, he was angry, and everyone knew not to talk about it. He wouldn't even tell me what happened and that says a lot. He's scarred. But except for the girls, Soda's an even keel. He's still at the DX. Still happy. Content. He's always been like that.

We were lucky the draft passed him up. All of the guys actually. I would catch Darry watching the newscasts at night, his jaw taught with worry.

When I left Soda gave me 20 bucks and a lecture but he let me go. He makes me call home at least once a week. "Darry may not want to hear from you but I do," he reasoned in Soda's calm way.

They've fought. Two-Bit told me about it; that after I left Darry and Soda had words. "Words you should be glad you didn't hear, kid. Real glad."

Two-Bit should be married by now, but he's not.

They didn't call it off and it's not for lack of trying. His mom – Mrs. Mathews – had a heart attack about a year ago and he and Kathy moved into take care of her, postponing the wedding. It's odd seeing Two-Bit grown-up. As much as he can be at least.

It hit him hard at first but now he's back to his old self. Albeit with a job. He works at the used car lot across town. Sells Caddys and Chevys to those who need them…and those who don't. He's a good swindler. Karen, his sister, had her baby last year. She lives with them too, all of them pitching in. It's a full house but his house has never been like Steve's or Johnny's where there's cursing and yelling. It's just crazy. He and Kathy are trying to save up for the big day. It's next January.

I'm his best man, so thank god I'm still alive for that.

Steve.

What can I say about Steve? He took me out and got me drunk last year so I suppose we've made some progress. Sometimes he and Tim Shepard take up a poker game or two but overall, not much has changed with Soda's best friend. I know he's a good guy. _Now_ I know that. I think he feels the same way about me – we just each choose not to acknowledge it. Soda thinks we'll never get along, he just doesn't know that we already do. Sometimes I don't think we know it either. Steve's always been the one to tell me that I'm the one who'll get tough like Dallas, and lately I believe him.

I haven't even been gone that long.

We're all still there. Sunday dinners with Steve and Two-Bit. Football games. Camping. We made our own family out of something I never imagined. We've existed against things we shouldn't have.

So I get why Darry's mad.

At first my plan was to be gone two months – summer. Then the story got extended; Nick and I couldn't figure it out. And not used to giving up, Nick cashed in his savings and talked Max into extending our stay. That's when I called home and shit hit the fan. I told Darry I canceled my fall classes.

I gave it the old college try twice, Dar, guess it's not going to work out.

Glory, I never heard him yell so loud.

And me? I've been better. The last two years have been relatively low-key.

I still keep in touch with a few people from Cherry Hills. They're all still there. Flora still eats puzzles but she's more than that. She wrote me a few letters, mailed me a few drawings. Sometimes Stubs checks himself out and we'll grab a bite to eat or talk about what I'm writing about. I use him to bounce ideas off of and get feedback. Beverly Wilkes is behind bars. She's tried to contact me one or two times but that's been a lost cause. I can't think about her too much without breaking into a cold sweat. She's one of the things in my life that's scared me bad.

Even here, in Miami, with what I've seen, I've never really been afraid.

I turned 20 a month ago. Nick took me out for a beer and I ended up spending the night in the trunk of a car – it's a long story. Darry and Soda couldn't send me anything; I didn't give them a mailing address.

But so far, I've lived a good, healthy life.

And then this.

Darry doesn't know yet. Nobody does. Except Nick. And boy howdy, he's having a grand old time with his guilt trip.

OoO

Max sent us to Miami. A few kids in Tulsa had died of drug overdoses. The cops traced the distribution source to Florida. Possibly Tampa, probably Miami, Max had bet. Max wanted us to get the story for our town. It was our duty, he had sworn in that bullshit type of way he had. He'd back us the cash, pay our way. It sounded fine to me. Nick too. So we said yes and I told Darry.

First of all, I never should have mentioned that the story was about drugs.

Second of all, I dropped out.

Both of those were the kickers.

So we went to Miami and as hard as it was to find, we found the story.

Hot and dirty, Miami was something Nick and I've never seen. Compared to the slow drawl of Tulsa, it was a circus. If I had known what I was going to stumble into I would've backed the hell out. But foresight's a bitch.

We stumbled into our roles and got them right most of the time. I didn't realize how far we dug ourselves in until I figured out who we were talking to. _Really_ talking to.

This assignment was fucked. It was bad. I talked to the wrong people, trusted the wrong source and last night around midnight I found myself with a blade in my back. It sliced clean around. I went down. Went down for the count and bled for a long, long time. I just remember the music. Someone had their car on, idling, and the soft tunes of the Rolling Stones' _Time is on my Side_.

Typically I'd hate being here, but right now the hospital is a safe place. Because when I see my brothers, when I walk through the front door, Darry is going to goddamn kill me.

I just have to call him first.

OoO

Bad habits are what Miami is good for.

I started smoking again. A shit thing, but I needed the act to blend in. And it was so easy. Although, the reason I'm in this mess is because I wouldn't fall into another bad habit. Looking back, I _should_ have done it, should have shoved that shit up my nose and called it good.

10 hours ago I lay in a slummy alleyway in the middle of Miami's art deco district, drowning in my own blood and now I'm stitched up, hooked up and doped up in a dingy hospital room. Life's funny that way. Although, I'd use the term _hospital_ loosely. The room's a long corridor filled with about ten beds and shoddy machinery. The nurses barely speak English.

I doubt the sterilization techniques but I'm not in the position to judge right now considering I can barely keep my own head on straight.

They keep sticking needles in me and when they pull them out they're filled with blood. When they ask in fractured English what they can do, I tell them I just want my brother. I just want Sodapop.

OoO

A phone's brought in. the nurse padding lightly across the tile floor. She sets it on the nightstand. Mutters in Spanish. Leaves. I can barely pick the phone up, managing to drag receiver to my ear. It's late there. It's four in the morning in Florida, making it three in Oklahoma. I can picture Darry and Liz, tangled in blankets, waking for the phone call. They'll be confused for about two seconds before Darry kicks it into high gear.

Dread doesn't even begin to describe this.

I shouldn't even have to call. I'm drugged and half the time I don't even remember what I'm saying. I have about a million stitches in me and someone else's blood. But the hospital needs my social and I sure as hell can't remember it.

I watch the dial spin and go dizzy. The phone rings. Ten times, twenty times, I let it ring and then there's Darry's rushed, sleep-soaked voice.

"Hello?"

"Darry? It's me."

For a second I almost wonder if he'll hang up. But then he's back, this time voice alert. Angry. I flashback to when I left six months ago, remembering how he had barely said goodbye, like I was never going to come back, and suddenly, stupidly, realize this was what he's probably been afraid of ever since I left.

"Ponyboy? It's damn near three in the morning. If you think—" He cuts off like he's just realized the reason I'd be calling at this godforsaken hour. "What's happened? What is it?"

My throat's tight. It doesn't want to let me breathe. I lick dry lips.

"Darry…"

"Do you need money, kiddo?"

_Kiddo_. It's that word that makes me hurt. Darry hasn't called me that since I left. I blink fast. Say fast, "No, I need my social. I can't remember it."

"Your social…?" He rambles it off, something I imagine didn't take him very long to memorize back when he first got custody. When he's done, Darry sighs. "That couldn't wait until the morning?"

"I'm in the hospital, Dar…"

I can hear his breath hitch, like someone's socked him in the gut.

"How bad?"

"Listen—"

"_How bad, Ponyboy?_"

"Let's just say I won't be running laps any time soon."

"Jesus Christ."

"They don't – I don't – we'll know more in the morning." I rub my face. It's the truth. I can't feel the lower half of my body they numbed me so good.

"What happened?" There's that slap of panic in his voice; Darry wanting to stay in control, even when we're separated. God, he tries hard.

"_Pony?_"

"Some guy stuck me with a blade – I don't even remember what—Hello? Darry?"

It's Liz's voice now. "Hold on, hold on, Ponyboy…" I lean my head back against the pillow. Close my eyes, listening to the murmured whispers. It's been about two minutes before I realize Darry's speaking again.

"…careful, Pone. Do you hear me? We can't handle this again. Do you understand me?" His voice sounds thick, drained, and I wish he'd just yell at me instead of being so nice. I put him through so much. And this time I wasn't even trying.

"I'm still alive, Dar."

"So what the hell happened?" he spits.

"I can't—I can't talk to you about it right now, Dar. I can't tell you." I open my eyes. I need to get out of Miami. "Look it just hurts too bad okay? I'll tell you when I come home. When I get outta here."

"I'm coming out there. Tell me where you are and I'll—"

"No. No, Darry." I want to keep him as far away from Florida as I can. "You stay there. I'll come back."

His breath hitches. "You get back here. You get home, Ponyboy. Come home so I can fucking strangle you."

He hangs up on me.

OoO

This is how I got into this mess. This is how I'm going back home.

OoO

_What can I say? An older Ponyboy is fun to write. I'll warn you now…I'm going to kick his ass a lot in this. This story will be long. But hopefully not boring or bad. I really wanted to write them older, show them as family, but of course toss in some craziness. _

_Please read and review. Pardon typos._

_Enjoy._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	2. A Homecoming

_Disclaimer: SE Hinton owns, cursing, dark subject matter, etc. Kind of a vague ending. Things will be explained next chapter._

A Homecoming

OoO

"You look like shit."

"Yeah, you try taking a knife to the gut and tell me how you're doing." Nick lights a smoke. Hands it to me. I sigh, inhale. "I feel like hell."

Nick dips low, smearing his face in his hands. "Jesus. I honestly can't believe you're still alive."

"Thanks a lot."

"I'm serious, Curtis. You should be six feet under by now." He raises an eyebrow as I take a drag. Says nothing as I finish the smoke in under a minute.

"I thought they were gonna bring your dead body in and I'd have to break the news. Christ, Curtis I should have—"

"It's ain't your fault, man"

He clears his throat. "So what the hell happened, Curtis? You want to enlighten me a little bit?"

"They knew."

"Bullshit. I told you – _you knew_ – to be careful. To—"

I sit up. The pain in my body kills. I don't know how I'm going to move around. Walk. Breathe. Nick hands me another cigarette.

"I froze, man. I swore I'd never put that shit into my body again and I just froze. I couldn't take it."

He looks ill. Swears. "Real glad to know that you, uh, you nearly got killed, that you nearly blew – or didn't blow – our story for your goddamn principles."

I give him the finger.

"What about that shit that's dripping into your system now? That's not a drug?"

"It's temporary." I lean my head back against the pillows, the warmth from the sunlight streaming through the windows hitting my face.

"You got that look, man."

"Look. What look?"

"That look you always get after talking to the Big One." Nick's nickname for Darry. The Big One. He shakes his head. "That's what done you in. Got you off your game."

I smoke my smoke, keeping silent. Nick's been my friend for only two years, but he knows me about as well as Two-Bit or Steve. "You gotta get him out of your head. He could've killed you."

"Fuck you, Nick." I rub my face. I don't want to talk about any of this. I want to sleep and forget about my broken body for one minute. Blaming Darry won't help either.

"Look, I get it Curtis. I know it was hard. No one could have guessed what would have gone down." Nick rubs his knuckles across the legs of his jeans. The rims of his eyes are red, and he practically whispers, "How bad are you?"

"I'm bad. But not that bad."

"I called Max. We're going home. Soon as you can."

"I can."

Nick nods, his face panicked. Relieved. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. We gotta get the hell out of Miami."

OoO

She laughs as she enters the room. That laugh. The one you could write a story about. One I'm familiar with. Rosie Trafficante, Vinny Trafficante's daughter. She's stands tall, the lone figure in the long white corridor.

"I knew I'd find you here. Knew you'd be alive. You're like a cat. Only worse."

"What do you want Rosie?"

She tosses her black hair. "For you to be dead."

"Lucky you I'm nearly there."

"You're a bastard, Mikey. But I can't say I'm surprised."

Her blue eyes turn to slits. She walks over to the end of the bed, until her thighs touch the rail. "If that's even your real name." Rosie rips the chart off the metal rail at the end of the bed. She reads. She lets out a harsh laugh. A brow is raised. "Really?"

"You read it here."

"I'm sticking with Mikey." Rosie tosses the chart on top of my lap. "They just missed the spine."

"Bad aim."

"This time." Rosie reminds me of Angel Curtis. Except older and a hell of a lot more deadly. Her heels click as she moves to sit in the chair next to me. She crosses her legs, folds her hands.

I sigh, tired. I should fight, beg but it'd be useless. I'm here and it's where I've landed myself. "Why're you here, Rosie?" I don't even need to ask how she's found me. Rosie Trafficante is Miami.

"I want to talk."

"Does it matter? You know where I am. I ain't got a chance."

"I'm glad you realize that. But I also want to know if you realize what you done to _me_? I trusted you and you ain't who you said you were. I look like a fool."

"Ros—"

"I figure you for a rat. Or something close." She grabs my wrist, her accent soft and sharp. "So what're you gonna do with all this, Mikey?"

"Nothing. Never."

She considers this. In a quick fluid motion she lights a smoke and takes a long drag. Then, decided, she says, "Because you look like Donnie. That's why."

"What what?"

"Why I'm gonna let you walk outta here. If you can walk, that is." Breath stills in my chest, thankful yet suspicious. Taking favors from Rosie Trafficante is like kissing a snake; you just don't do it. Rosie leans close, her breath smelling like peppermints. "It's those goddamn eyes of yours. I've got a soft spot."

Ever since I met Rosie she's liked me. It's why her father liked me too. Trusted me enough to let me in. His only son – her brother – had been murdered 10 years ago, hence the soft spot. It's the eyes, they both claimed. Donnie had them too.

Her back straightens, face tightening. "Daddy will have a talk with Tony. Believe me. What he did was uncalled for...but still. He did it. Someone ordered it."

The door to the long corridor rattles. Whoever wants in won't get here. Rosie probably has someone out front, barring any nurse from getting in. Not that they would want to get involved anyway. In Miami, everyone's tough. No one cares enough for that.

"They think you're dead. Daddy thinks you're dead," Rosie whispers. "So you know what you do? You get the fuck out of Miami. You don't come back and you hope to hell they don't find out where you live."

Her blood-red nails dig into my arm. "Because they'll really kill you. This time, they won't miss."

OoO

I'm there for three days, healing as best as I can. They stitch me up, wrap me up tight and give me the news. I can walk, but I won't walk right for a long time. The nurse hands me some sort of cane and it's all I can do from chucking it across the room.

It's a goddamn stick. And that's all I'll call it.

The knife, dug into my back and carved across my side and stomach, missed vital organs. Apparently I've had three blood transfusions I don't remember. "Considering everything you've been through," the doctor says, "you should consider yourself lucky."

I keep hearing this word but I ain't so sure what to do with it.

A nurse presses a rosary and bottle of pain killers into my palm. I tell her to keep the pills.

OoO

Nick and I agree on one thing on the drive home: We can never write about this. I tell him about Rosie's visit and while I'm breathing a bit easier, I don't trust her for a minute.

The ride home is painful. Nick's jeep bounces across the country, the roads, and I swear to god my stitches open up about a million times. I can't drive at all, which makes getting home a longer journey. We drive about 18 hours a day, sleeping at rest stations, and eating at drive-throughs. My body kills, stiff and broken, I grit my teeth. It's all I can do not to take a pill. Nick tells me I'm an idiot, to just fucking take the painkillers, but I can't.

"You already had it dripping into your system at the hospital. I don't see why it's any different."

I shift in the seat. "I have a choice now."

"Yeah, the same choice you had when you got a knife shoved into your gut?"

I don't say anything else. He launches into it again as we cross the Texas border. "You're an idiot. You're fucked up, Curtis. You can barely walk and I have no idea how in the hell you're gonna do this without going numb."

"I'll do it," is all I say.

Nick and I don't talk about what's really worrying us. What we'll do if they find us. We may be out of Miami, but we're not off the hook at all.

OoO

We pull into town about two in the morning, three days later. Instead of my place, we go straight to Nick's. I don't want to wake Darry or Liz, and I definitely don't feel like getting into it with my oldest brother.

With the stick, it takes about ten minutes to climb the stairs to his apartment. Nick helps me inside, holding the door open. He offers me his bed but I collapse on the couch instead, seeing his living room the way he left it. Scattered notebooks, pens and an empty carton of Lucky's.

I think of my room at home and miss it.

OoO

I wake and Nick holds up a finger. He's on the phone. Rubbing my eyes, I try to sit up and bite back a curse. Nick mumbles a few more things and then hangs up. "I've been on the phone with Max. Bad news," he says. "We still got jobs. Good news, he agrees with us. He doesn't want us to write the story."

"You told him?"

"I told him."

It's a relief. That Max is on our side. Although, considering the circumstances, he better be. He sent us into it.

Nick swivels on his chair, face white. "Curtis…" He swallows hard, I see what he wants. "I never should have—"

I pull out a cigarette. "It's okay. Let it go, Nick."

He makes a fist with his hand, brings it to his mouth.

OoO

I keep an internal checklist of the things, the lies, the worries, I can't tell my brothers.

1. I don't smoke. No, really, I'm stone-cold sober.

2. The pain I'm in is cakewalk. I've got it down pat. No pills, no need.

3. I'll walk normal again. One day, I'll run.

All of these things are a lot easier to hide than what I really have to tell them.

4. Miami. The story. God. I don't even know how to lie about this one. I won't even try. For their sakes and mine, I can't.

OoO

Liz is home. She lets out a little scream when I walk through the door. "Oh my god." Her hands fly to her mouth.

I give her a grin. "I don't look that bad do I?"

She's trying not to tear up. "No," she says. Nick hovers by the door, holding my bag. His face tells me he wants to get the hell out of here before Darry gets home. "You're just – you're just _here_." Liz touches my face, my shoulder. Lowers her voice. "Darry's such a mess."

I prop myself up on the stick the hospital gave me. "Where is he?"

It's when she sees the stick that she starts to cry.

OoO

Darry's on his way. Liz is whipping up some sort of dinner. Nick's long gone, off to meet Max and give him the off-the-record version of our story. Better him than me. I don't have the energy to talk.

In the bathroom mirror, I evaluate the damage. I pull my shirt up. The left side of my stomach is raw and red, deep jutting scars and stitches. It hurts to stand straight. The doctors were right. Everything that could have gone wrong just got missed.

I've already determined this won't ruin me. I'm not bitter or regretful, just chalking it up to experience. I was stupid. I got hurt. I'll learn. I goddamn better.

I'm not worried about healing, because I will. I've been through worse. I just keep reminding myself of that. It's how I can cope without falling to pieces, thinking about what I've lost. Right now, I'm just worried about getting back to basics. To my job. To my life. To staying alive.

The thing that bothers me is that I need a goddamned stick to right myself. If I don't use it, I limp. I don't know what looks worse. I try not to think about it. I stare at myself at the mirror; I look so much like Sodapop. Tugging my shirt down, I sit on top of the toilet seat. I cover my mouth, breathe into my hands.

OoO

He's there when I get out of the shower. I can hear his deep voice floating through the hallway. In bare feet, I pad into the kitchen. Mid-conversation, Darry and Liz break off. He stares a moment, worry crossing his face, and then grabs me up. I wrap my arms around his broad back and squeeze him the best I can.

"You never should have left," he says. "I never should have let you."

OoO

"Are you sure I can stay here?" I ask, in the middle of unpacking. "I don't want to—"

"Stop it," Darry says. He watches, lingering in the doorway of my old room. "This is your house."

Darry looks older than I remember, I can tell by his face. The thin lines across his forehead and around his mouth. Though he's still as muscular as ever, his shoulders have a distinctive hunch that tells me he's tired. He also hasn't lost that look that tells me he'll take care of things, that he's in charge; the minute I arrived he brought it out of retirement.

The smell of spaghetti filters through the air, and I realize how hungry I really am. I haven't eaten a full meal since before the hospital. Liz is getting dinner ready while Darry hovers. He has questions, I know that. I'm just not sure about the answers I want to give.

"Soda coming over?"

Darry's nod is sharp. "You bet."

"How's he doing?"

"How do you think, Ponyboy?"

I wince as I try to sink onto the bed. Darry crosses the room, grips my elbow and gently lowers me down. I get the feeling this won't be the first time someone does something like this and I'm already beginning to hate it.

"I'm sorry. For everything."

"I don't want you to be sorry. I don't want to talk about this now."

"Oh yeah, we're gonna talk," Darry says at my surprised glance. "Just…now isn't the time. I want you to relax."

"I need to tell you Darry…I need to—"

"Tonight. We'll talk tonight."

As he leaves, his broad back disappearing, I'm suddenly so nervous to tell my brothers anything. But I'll tell the truth and it has to be enough. It has to be.

OoO

I'm on the porch, resisting the urge to smoke when Sodapop's truck barrels over the curb and screeches to a halt. My cocky brother hops out of the truck and strides fast to me. "Goddamn," he says. "Goddamn it, I'm so mad at you right now."

He still looks the same – dark eyes, handsome face, though his smile is sad. He wraps an arm around my neck, drawing me close. "When Darry called, I thought you were dead. You know that? I fucking had a heart attack."

"I know. I'm sorry."

He touches my face, pulling me in. "Just—oh, Pony. I love you, kid. I really do."

OoO

Seeing everyone's reaction to it is worse than actually using the stick.

When I come to dinner, Soda's eyes get big and then bigger, like he hadn't realized just how bad it was. He looks at me, and his eyes are full of horrified questions that I'm beginning to get scared myself. Finally he clears his throat, helps me sit down, and tells Liz thank you when she pours him a drink.

She pours all of us one.

OoO

It's late. Liz has cleaned up and gone to bed. The three of us sit in the living room, the TV on mute, the tableside lamp casting the only glow.

Three drinks in and I don't even know how to begin. The truth is scary. They can't help me but I need them. Hell, Nick and I both do. We're going to talk about it and that's fine. All of us are working up to it. It's in the air.

Finally, in between talking about Two-Bit and Kathy, and Darry's new business, Soda says, "Ponyboy…" His eyes move to Darry and his voice hardens, tries not to catch. "What the hell happened to you?"

I can tell they've discussed who would ask this, and decided on Sodapop, who's struggling to wear a neutral face. He's sitting on the ground, back against the wall, legs pulled up. He sips his scotch. It's weird how adult we are.

"The story…" I begin, "The story wasn't about what it was supposed to be about..."

Darry twists in his recliner. He doesn't say anything.

"Remember…it was the story about the drug overdoses here?" Darry swears and I know what he's thinking. "Well, at first it was okay," I say. I move my hands into a ball. Squeeze. Release. "We were just trying to get a lead on the supplier…and Nick and I thought we had that…but then…"

I rub my brow, remembering how all of a sudden it had dawned on Nick and me what we had really stumbled into. I shift on the couch, uncomfortable, the stitches giving a twinge.

"We met the wrong people. And then it was too late to get out. I couldn't get out. I got involved in something I shouldn't have." My voice sounds flat and recorded. "The story was…It was no good."

Darry says, "What happened in Miami, Ponyboy?"

"I did something bad, Darry. I did something wrong."

Darry looks at Sodapop. Needing it, Darry finishes his scotch. Readies himself. "What?"

"That night in the alley…I screwed up. I gave myself away. They offered me something I shoulda took, Dar. But I didn't…I really should have but I didn't." I close my eyes. Open them. I swallow the rest of my drink. Soda's face is paste.

"I tried. Tried to too late. Hell, I didn't even say no. But I hesitated too long. And they—they knew," I finish lamely. "They just knew. And then…" I trail off. They know the rest.

Darry takes it well. He nods. "Okay, okay, Ponyboy…"

There's still one thing they don't know. "Darry…"

Soda sucks in a breath. "Who's '_they'_?" he asks, like he's terrified to know. And he should be. "Who'd you get involved with?"

I cover my mouth, afraid to go any further.

"Ponyboy…"

"Vinny Trafficante."

"Jesus," Darry says, "Jesus."

I bury my head in my hands. "He's gonna find out who I am and he's gonna fuckin kill me."

OoO

_EEEEEEEEEE. _

_Ok._

_Please read and review. Pardon typos._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	3. A Plan

_Disclaimer: SE Hinton owns, cursing, dark subject matter, etc. Long chap._

A Plan

OoO

Soda ends up walking out. He doesn't say anything, just gets up and leaves. Darry's as calm as I've ever seen him.

"How come you ain't yelling?" There's a loud buzz beginning in my head that I don't think will quit for a long time.

"Yet," Darry says. "How come I ain't yelling _yet_? Because…" He stands and begins collecting glasses. "You just got back. You're hurt Ponyboy. I'm not sure if that's sunk in for you, but you're bad, kiddo. Real bad."

He disappears into the kitchen.

I forgot about that. My brothers are processing everything at once. I've had about a week to take in the fact that I'm newly crippled and possibly very nearly soon dead.

"I ain't done with this Ponyboy. I ain't done with you," Darry says, reappearing. There's an I-told-you-so bubbling on his lips, and I'm sure, one day, in the near future, it will come out. His blue eyes flash. "But right now, I can't be mad at you. I'm just so—" he breaks off. "So fucking grateful you're alive right now that's all that matters."

OoO

Darry must have woken Liz on his way into bed because I can hear him talking to her in a low tone. I stand in the dark hallway, outside their bedroom door, and wonder if I did the right thing by telling him.

The bed squeaks and then Liz is saying, "He's back, Darry. He's back and he's okay…you don't…"

"…fault…he left and I never…should have told him…"

I turn away, ready for bed and to forget about Miami. For one night at least.

OoO

Vinny Trafficante. Florida Mob boss. Drug distributor. Famous in the press for alleged shady dealings and unsolved murders. That's who Nick and I inadvertently stumbled onto. Drugs were being sold and shipped, sure. We wanted to see who the connection was, but we had no idea it was mob related. We thought it was just a bunch of idiot drug dealers.

We kept our cool when we found out. We played along. It never got rough until that night in the alley. When my conscience got the best of me.

We may have left Florida but it's not that easy. You just don't escape. I've read the stories. Heard the tales. One day something will surface. Your head in a box for example.

We have the story but Rosie Trafficante has my name.

OoO

Soda's there the next morning, smoking inside the house, his leg bouncing a mile a minute. If there's one thing my brothers and I agree on it's that no one else needs to know about this. Liz, Two-Bit and Steve need to be kept in the dark for their own good.

Never one to be at a loss, to be helpless, Darry has a game plan. "Lay low, Pony." He chugs coffee like it's his business. Which it probably is now that I'm back.

"Stay home. Stay here. We'll get you back in college next year, maybe figure out a way to get your credits back from the classes you dropped and then it will have all blown over…I made you a doctor's appointment too, I don't trust…"

As he switches into Darry mode, I just watch him. I itch for a smoke.

I've just been put on house arrest. So I figured.

OoO

I meet Nick at a diner across town. "I told them."

"You did? You know, I'm really curious how you phrased it, Curtis. Maybe, 'Hey guys, just an FYI, the mob's after me, so you might wanna start preparing last rights and well wishes'."

I order a coffee and light a cigarette. I cough, waving away smoke. "Something like that."

Nick eyes the stick leaning against the side of the booth. "How're you feeling?"

"Shitty. How about you?"

"I got these fuckin' nightmares on the brain. Vinny sneaking through my window, slicing the shit out of my skull."

"What's Max had to say?"

"The same old: Get some rest, come back to work, yada, yada, bring me coffee, yada."

"With Max, I think getting some rest and working are mutually exclusive…" I rub my eyes. "He hasn't changed his mind? He doesn't want us to write it?"

"No way, man."

I lean back in the booth, chew my lip. The hunger isn't there anymore. Instead, it's wary and foreign. I never thought I'd shy away from a story but nothing's ever been this serious. Minus myself, I can count on one hand the number of people who know the real story about Miami. I just hope it stays that way.

There's a pile of spilled salt on the table. I draw a line through it with my finger. "We can't write this. Ever."

"No," Nick says. "This stays between us…"

He doesn't have to say _and the grave_, because we're both thinking it.

OoO

Taking painkillers would be a wise choice. Getting home from the diner, I collapse on the couch; my gut aches with a fierce intensity I never knew existed. It's hard. It's harder than I thought it would be to get around.

I need to get a car.

I don't think about the things I may not be able to do. Because that's not an option.

OoO

"Get up."

There's a boot nudging my knee. I open my eyes. Soda's standing tall in front of me. I blink; I must've fallen asleep. "What's goin on?"

"C'mon," he says. "Darry made you a doctor's appointment. I'm your ride, kiddo."

"That was fast."

"You know Darry."

OoO

The doctor's finished, giving me clear instructions to stay calm and move slow. He's pronounced my stitches "shoddy work" and declares out loud that Miami General should be ashamed. I keep my eyes on the wall. He gives me a prescription and finally leaves, letting me put my shirt back on. Soda's stayed in the room the entire time, his face a mask.

"It looks like a goddamn butcher sewed you up." His hands shake and finally he rests them on the knees of his jeans.

"Soda…"

"This is bad, ain't it?" His dark eyes are pained. "What you told us last night."

I nod. "Probably."

"You gotta listen to me and Darry. Stay safe. Stay put."

"I will."

"I don't want anything to happen to you, Pone," he says, pulling out a pack of smokes. "So don't let me down."

"I won't. I can't," I say.

Soda breaks two cigarettes in half before he manages to light one. "You stay with me, okay? I ain't losing you again."

OoO

It's clear someone already warned him, because when he makes a break for me, Two-Bit doesn't even try to swing me around in his token style. Instead, he stops and squeezes my arm. "God damn. You made it home, Ponyboy Curtis."

"I figured I'd better make an appearance."

"I knew your best man duties would pull you through."

I crack a grin. "So we're still on for January?"

"She wants to be a winter bride." Two-Bit shrugs. "Or some shit like that."

I laugh and it hurts. Push myself back on my stick and Two-Bit flinches. "Sorry, kid," he says when I catch his eye.

"It's okay. I can still run like the wind. It's a joke, man."

"Yeah, then how come I ain't laughing?"

"Because it's not funny?" I venture, wishing everyone would lighten up. I lean against the railing of the porch.

"Damn right it's not funny," Two-Bit says. "You know, I'm real glad you're alive right now, Ponyboy. Real glad." Two-Bit smears a hand through his hair. "Kathy thought we'd be throwin' a funeral instead of a wedding."

"Yeah," I say, feeling tired. "You and everyone else."

"How much trouble you in?" I raise an eyebrow and he says, "Yeah, Soda barely told me and Steve what was goin' on, so we're both figuring it's something pretty damn serious."

"I can't tell you, I'm sorry, man, I just can't."

Two-Bit's eyes grow hard and he glances to the left. He swallows, says, "You've been my best friend for a long time, kid."

"I know," I say, a sinking feeling in my gut at the hurt in Two-Bit's voice. "Just trust me when I say you're better off not knowing."

"Pone—"

"Look, not you too, okay?" Two-Bit glances my way. "You can't treat this serious. Not now. Not from you." It's not fair, what I'm asking him to do, but I hate the gravity of this whole thing. If there's one person to keep it normal, keep us laughing, it's Two-Bit. I need that right now.

"Okay, kid," Two-Bit says with a slight nod. "I can do that."

OoO

That old look comes back to my brother – that cautious, guarded mask. For the first time in a long while Darry locks the doors. He digs the key out of the junk drawer, drives down to the hardware store and makes six copies, divvying them out between all of us – Steve and Two-Bit included. He sticks the shotgun behind his bedroom door. Stays up late and watches TV long after Liz and I go to bed.

OoO

Days pass. I go waste time at Cherry Hills.

OoO

"What's with the gimp?"

"Nice to see you too, Stubs."

Chris Stubs smokes his smoke, taking it in. He's dressed all in black, his hair still long but neatly trimmed. "Aw, no," Stubs says before I have to say anything. He glances at the stick. He gets it.

"Marie's gonna be mighty upset."

"It's just a work-related injury."

"Got in trouble on the job again?"

I smile. Being back at Cherry Hills is like visiting a ghost. Unwelcome yet comforting. Dr. Please has long since moved on but the people I knew are still here. The story made things better for Cherry Hills; better treatment and nurses.

"You, uh, seen Flora yet?"

I feel myself blush. "Not yet."

"I wonder what she'll have to say."

"Shut up, man."

"So let's talk about this." Stubs's voice turns ponderous, his voice lulling. "I want to hear about this new story, P.M. Curtis."

The smile dies from my face. "There's no story."

"You always have a story, kid."

"Not now," I say. "You'll never read about it."

Stubs hands me a smoke even though he shouldn't, the idiot. "That bad huh?"

"Yeah, it's that bad."

"You know," Stubs says, scratching his chin. "I ain't never seen you like this. Even when you were here and doin' those fool things you were doin. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were a might scared."

I take a deep drag. "I am. I'm pretty damn scared, Stubs."

"Can you get out of it?"

"I think it's too late."

"There's no such thing as _too late_."

"This time, I think there is."

OoO

"Pony…Ponyboy…kiddo…"

There's a hand against my face and I open my eyes. Soda's leaning across my chest. He smells like cologne, a very un-Soda-like smell, and he's wearing a tie.

"Did you have a date tonight?" I mumble, waking up.

He draws back and smiles. "You were dreaming," he says.

"Yelling?"

"Loud enough."

"What're you doing here?"

"I stopped over," he says. "Thought I'd see how you were and lucky me, caught this just in time." Soda flashes a smile. "Told Darry I'd take care of it for him."

I groan, hurting, and sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My entire back side throbs, wires digging into the skin. The dream was about Miami. Just redness everywhere – filling my throat, clotting my teeth—

"…christ…"

I look over at my brother, who looks dismayed. "What is it?" He points. I glance down, and there's a thin tendril of blood dripping out of the bottom of my pajama pants leg.

"Shit," I swear, touching the small of my back where it's wet. "I must've ripped a stitch."

Grim, Soda gently pulling me up. He shouts for Darry.

OoO

"How do you feel, Pony?" Darry asks on the ride back from the hospital. The stitched me up tighter than ever and sent me home with a boatload of pills.

"I hurt. I hurt everywhere."

Soda flashes a look and lowers the radio. I wait for it from Darry – but there's nothing. He's been calmer than calm since I've been back. Something I take for a warning. Right now he's the eye of the hurricane but soon the storm will shift and he'll blow up. I wish he would. It might make me feel better.

Soda mumbles something soft, something inaudible. I stare out the window at the passing streetlights. Christ, I need a smoke.

OoO

It's a Sunday; everyone comes over for a barbeque.

Karen even comes; she juggles the baby on her hip and sits across from me at the table. Her blonde hair is fluffy, her cheeks pink. She looks like Two-Bit, only prettier.

"My mom told me you died."

"Is that what they're saying?"

"Shit," she says. "I'm sorry, Ponyboy. It's the talk around town." She shushes the baby and lowers her voice conspiratorially. "They say you got mixed up in something and never came back."

"What else are they saying?"

Her gray eyes flash. "Different stories. They're saying you drowned in the Arkansas. That you got shot and dumped down by the Gallows."

Boy howdy, I bet Darry loves this. I wonder what else he's heard. I rub my face, trying not to laugh. "At least the fiction's interesting."

"I knew you'd like it." Karen smiles. "Now people are just going to think you're a ghost or Sodapop. Lord knows you look enough alike…"

She moves the baby in front of my face. It's chubby with blonde curls, drool bubbling from its mouth. "This is Hank. Want to hold him?" I blink to keep the baby in focus; I hurt so bad. 20 extra pounds would kill.

"I can't, Karen."

She holds my gaze. "It's okay, Pony. I know how you feel."

OoO

The party's loud. Someone brings out the alcohol and turns on the radio. I think it's Liz. She, Karen, and Kathy start chatting in the kitchen. Darry pulls out the plans he's had drawn up for Curtis Construction and lets Two-Bit take a look. Soda shows up about halfway through, dressed to the nines, reeking of cologne and smoke.

Steve Randle sidles up. "Drink this. You look like you need it."

I take the drink. I don't bother sniffing it, instead gulping it down. It burns and soothes all at once. Steve still is a greasy hood but I'm glad to see him. It's a relief to be around someone and not care what they think.

"So you still on lockdown?" he asks and I laugh.

"For now." My eyes follow Sodapop who's breezing through the kitchen, chatting up Karen. He says hi to Hank, tickling the baby's feet, and then grabs a beer from the fridge.

"He's seeing someone."

"I thought so," I say.

"I don't know who," Steve admits. He leans against the wall, watching with curious eyes. "You hear anything?"

"I haven't." It stings a bit, the fact that Soda hasn't mentioned anything to me.

A car backfires outside and I turn quickly. I lose my grip on the stick but Steve grabs it before it can hit the ground and swiftly props it up under my hand before anyone can notice.

"Thanks," I mutter, dragging myself to the window.

"Don't worry about it, Ponyboy."

I flip the blinds open. A dark Cadillac slowly pulls through our street.

OoO

"I keep fucking dreaming, man."

Nick settles himself on the back steps, where everyone's gravitated outside. The loud buzz continues in my numb head and I really want a smoke. I sneak them when I can but around here it's not so easy. The unholy guilt also plays a pretty nice part.

I brace myself on the stick. "Miami?"

"Yeah, fucking Miami. What do you think?"

Across the yard, Steve's pulling out the football, trying to pull everyone into a game. "I can't sleep," Nick says, lowering his voice. "I keep thinking they're following me. I mean, hell, yesterday I drove around the block three times just to be sure."

I think of the black Cadillac I saw an hour ago but say nothing. It wouldn't help. If they find us they find us and there isn't anything we can do about it.

"I need to do something," Nick says, looking up, catching my attention. "I need to stay busy to forget about this. I talked to Max."

I groan, but the itch is there. "I bet you did."

"So what about you?" Nick asks and I give a slow nod.

"Yeah. I'm in. I'll work. Hell, I got nothing better to do."

"Good. So I'll call Max and—" Nick jumps up as Darry shoots a wave and starts striding our way. "I gotta go."

"Hey, Nick, don't—" I try to grab his arm but he's already on his way out and around the side of the house. I feel lousy when he leaves. I feel even lousier when Darry walks over and asks what his hurry is.

OoO

The pain. The pain. The goddamn pain.

I vomit over the toilet. The sounds of the music, of Liz cleaning up the kitchen, of Darry saying goodbye to Karen, float in through the thin walls.

There's a hand on my back. "I know what you're doing, Ponyboy. You oughta take them."

"I can't." Done, I flop back against the tub. The grimy bathroom floor is cool beneath my palms. I brace myself up, stiff.

"You're hurtin'," Soda says, crouching to sit. "You're in pain."

"It's not too bad."

"You're such a liar."

I turn my head to look at him. "So who're you dating?"

"Who said I'm dating anyone?"

"Now who's the liar?"

Soda laughs, the sound echoing in the small bathroom. "Just seeing someone, Ponyboy. And it ain't a big deal so don't go getting all excited or anything."

This time it's my turn to laugh. Soda squeezes my knee. "You wanna get back?"

"A few more minutes." Nodding, Soda sits with me until I can get up.

OoO

"I ain't even gonna ask you," Max says, pacing the room. He slams the door shut. "And I don't want any information. Any details. This gets shelved. Nick told me straight what happened. You're on goddamn crutches, Curtis, I don't need any further explanation."

"Good," I say. "Because I think this is a pretty damn good explanation for what happened." I toss the stick into a corner and sink into a chair, rubbing my temple. "Look, do you have work for us or not, Max?"

Nick was right; I need to get out – to work. I can't sit there anymore waiting for something to happen. I've missed this. Despite everything, I've missed the story. I sink deeper in the chair. Darry's gonna hate it.

Max's eyes fall on me. "Can't exactly chase down stories, can we?"

"Stop being an asshole, Max," Nick swears. "Jesus."

"I'm fine. Give me the stories and I'll get 'em."

After a long minute, Max goes to his desk, picks up a stack of file folders and then divvies them up between me and Nick. "Take your pick."

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_You guys make me so happy. Thank you for reading and reviewing and just all around awesomeness. Keep it up. Let me know what you think._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	4. A Softball

_Usual Disclaimers: I don't own, cursing…yada, yada..._

A Softball

OoO

"You're kidding me right?"

I grind the cigarette out under my foot. "I'm sorry," I say, and I know I say that a lot. "I picked it up in Miami. I had to blend in somehow."

"Pone," Soda says, coming down the steps. He meets me at the bottom of the porch. "You know what the doctor said."

"That was two years ago," I say, even though I'm sure it doesn't matter. The past is stubborn. It sticks.

"What're you going to do if it comes back?" He crosses his arms. He's not yelling because this is a catch-22. I need something to cope. Smoke or pills take your pick. Soda knows that. He just doesn't like it.

"I'll deal with it when it happens."

"For being such a smart kid, sometimes I just want to smack the hell out of you." Soda's crosses his arms. "Don't make me tell Darry."

I'll give it to him; it's the best threat he's ever made.

OoO

"That's what ol' Superman's been working on." Two-Bit gestures grandly as he pulls his truck into the vacant lot.

"Huh."

I prop my elbow against the window, surveying the wide expanse of land that is now my brother's. Sitting a few miles outside of Tulsa, it's a square dirt lot, next to an aging building and a shrub of trees. A small white trailer sits – Darry's mobile office for now. A smile tugs at my face. It's a good place. A real good place.

Before I had left for Miami Darry had been drawing up the paperwork. But now it's real. It's actually going to happen.

Darry's trucked is parked next to the trailer. Having just arrived, he climbs out and waves at us. Smiling broadly, he hitches his thumbs through his belt loop and paces his land.

"Darry's already offered me the vice president position, ain't that right Dar?" Two-Bit says as we stride up to him. I notice the pace Two-Bit's kept to match my limp and I remember when it used to be the other way around.

"Two-Bit," Darry says with a chuckle. "If you're lucky I'll let you answer the phones." He turns his smile on me. "What do you think?"

"It's great, Dar. I can't believe it."

"We start breaking ground next week…the crew comes out and we'll…"

I look away, my chest tightening. Seeing it, hearing it – it's real. How far we've come seems unbelievable sometimes. Darry will own something; it will be his. Overwhelmed, I grip my stick, steadying myself. We're greasers. Greasers don't do stuff like this.

"Pone?"

"I'm uh, I'm really proud of you, Darry."

He clears his throat. "Thanks, kiddo."

OoO

I sort through the files Max has given me. They're good ones. I choose one and do some digging over the phone. My research takes me to a lead and despite being ordered by Darry to stay home as much is possibly necessary, I call Nick and he picks me up.

I've tried but I can't sit still. Staying at home won't help me heal. I need to work. I need to make money. I need to get out.

I finish the story and drop it off for Max.

OoO

Liz greets me at the door that night. She sticks an arm out, blocking my entrance. "Have you told them?"

"Told them what?"

"That you're working already?"

"No," I say. "I think that'd push Darry over the edge."

"I think you're right." She gives me a stern look. "You really should ease up, Ponyboy. You just got home. At least let yourself get better before you go breaking yourself again."

Stepping aside, Liz lets me in. She doesn't say anything more.

OoO

It doesn't take long. Hell, it's print. Deadlines come fast. The story's a big front page piece – a bold P.M. Curtis as the byline.

Darry finds me that night and this time he lets it rip. "You're working?" he yells. "I told you to wait it out, to lie low and what do you do? You publish something?"

"It's not about Miami," I mumble, trying to justify. "It's—"

"That doesn't matter," Darry snaps. "If they see your name, they'll know. They'll really fucking know, Ponyboy."

"Darry, stop it," Liz hisses. She's standing in the kitchen; hand on her hip, the other wielding a spatula.

"This is serious," he says, like I don't already know that. "If they find you—"

"I know, Dar. I know."

"I sure as hell hope so."

I've never seen Darry walk out but he does just that, nearly breaking the screen door. Liz gives me a _thanks-a-lot_ look but just goes back to making dinner. She keeps his plate in the oven until he comes home.

OoO

Steadying myself against the stick and the counter, I grip the coffee pot and pour myself a large cup. Darry made it and I can already feel my nose hairs prickling. I take a sip.

The back door slaps. "Wakey-wakey, Ponyboy."

"Hey Two-Bit. Want some coffee?"

"Nah. I prefer to live dangerously and wake the all-natural way."

"Beer doesn't count, Two-Bit."

"Say what you will but it gets me moving." He circles the kitchen. "You feel like taking a drive today, kid?"

I lower the mug, setting it on the counter. "Where?" I ask with suspicion. Nothing is ever simple with Two-Bit, including "taking a drive". The last time we took a drive we ended up pushing his shitty pick-up truck out of Lake Elmo.

"I should have known better than to ask you," he says. "The unadventurous sort. You know, you're probably not up for it anyway." He sticks his hands in his pockets. "For one thing it involves walking and seeing how you're pretty hobbled and—OW!"

I lower the stick. Two-Bit rubs the side of his thigh. "That's abuse, Ponyboy Curtis."

I grin. "I knew this thing would come in handy."

Two-Bit laughs, his gray eyes dancing. "C'mon kid. It's time for me and you to go and do grown-up, adult things."

"I don't like the sound of that."

OoO

"Everyone else has already been measured," the tailor says in his clipped voice. Amused, I climb onto the raised platform and wait for him to measure me. He stretches out a tape measure. I face the mirror, my reflection staring back.

"Saved the bed for last," Two-Bit drawls. The tailor, a thin guy with a mustache, sniffs. Two-Bit, not very good at sitting still, paces the small room. He keeps touching fabrics and patterns with distracted ease. I watch him in the mirror.

"So what else do we need to do for this shindig?"

"I think just show up."

"It's still January right?"

"Still January."

I smirk. The wedding's been moved so many times, most people in town think they've long since broken up or eloped. Leave it to Two-Bit to keep everyone guessing.

I glance down, frowning as the tailor pats my legs, moving up. He has me lift my arms, and I do, best as I can, and finally he's saying he's finished. He jots down my measurements on a pad and then hands me a dress shirt.

"Try this."

I step into a dressing room to change, wincing as I lift my shirt, preparing to tug it off. You know you're in sorry shape when getting dressed is a challenge.

The curtain whips open and suddenly Two-Bit's there. "Hey, Pone, you think we should get this for ol' Superman…" In his hands he holds the ugliest shirt I've ever seen. White with bright psychedelic splotches and a sparkly kind of material.

Self-conscious, I jerk my shirt back down. "Jesus, Two-Bit, don't you ever knock?"

He stares, dumfounded, unsure what to say next. He presses a hand against the wall and lets out an exhale. "Glory...you clean got gutted."

I don't even have to glance down to know what he's seeing. A raised scar runs from the middle of my back to the front of my stomach, ending right under my belly button. I don't feel embarrassed or ashamed, just tired.

Two-Bit's pale, his sideburns standing out rusty red. "Christ, they sure made a mess of you, Pony."

I clear my raw throat. "Yeah. They sure did."

Two-Bit pulls the curtain shut, stepping in front as other voices filter through the dressing room. His voice is low. "If you saw that person again, the person who did that to you, you'd tell me wouldn't you?"

I frown. "Why?"

"Because," he says, and there's a look in his eyes like I've never seen. "I'd really like to find them, kid. I'd really like that."

OoO

After about a month home, August brewing into September, something else starts brewing. Tempers. Tensions. Frustrations. I keep dreaming about men sneaking into my house and stabbing me in the back.

Again.

OoO

The buzz in my head whines. I turn my throbbing face up to the dying sun and then dip forward, resting my hands on my knees and lowering into a squat. Sweat streams down my face.

It's too early, I know that, but I had thought I could try. I'm a fucking idiot. The Hunchback of Notre Dame could beat me in a race.

I can't run right.

I was fine for about four weeks. Four weeks of staying positive, of thinking I could get back on the saddle, so to speak. And all it takes is for one little thing to make me realize things may never be normal again.

OoO

"Hey, dead man walking," Steve drawls as I mosey into the DX. "Ain't you got better places to be?" He points the newspaper at me and I grab it from his hands.

Soda scowls at Steve's nickname. He comes around the front desk. "What's goin' on, Pone?"

"Thought I'd stop in and say hi," I lie. My body's killing me from the run. I didn't think I could make it back without a pit stop, the DX being the closest thing on the way home.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just tired."

I plop on a chair and start reading, noting who made the paper this week. I get to section B-11 before I start to perk up: _Teen found dead at Lookout Point_.

Walking by, Steve rips the paper from my hands. "You know what we do with these? Use 'em to soak up oil spills. Real good profession you're into Ponyboy."

I give him the finger.

OoO

"Easy, Curtis, easy."

"But – but this is news."

"Maybe it is, maybe it ain't. It's only one time, Ponyboy. A kid had a fit or something. Just dropped dead."

I gawk at his calm demeanor. I went into Max's office to claim this story and instead he's shelving it, and it looks like he's shelving me. "Says this from a guy who sent me to Miami to get involved with the _goddamn mob_." I stand and start pacing his small office.

"You gotta take it easy, Curtis."

My eyes narrow. The voice sounds familiar. "Max…this is my story."

"It ain't a story."

"Bullshit."

"Another one dies and it's yours." Cavalier, he shuffles some papers. "From now on, you get the Lifestyle stories. Cats on parade, Halloween floats, shit like that."

"Are you joking?"

"Do I look like I'm the fucking court jester?"

I grip the stick. "This is bullshit, Max."

"Softballs," Max says. He takes his sunglasses off. "Just for a few months. Maybe a story about the women's choir." He smirks.

"C'mon, Max—"

"Don't give me that Curtis. Get out of here. You're lucky you still have a job. Lie low for once."

A light snaps on. Only one person's been repeating that to ever since I came back home and I know just who to blame.

OoO

Darry got me benched.

I smoke a pack and head home.

OoO

I slam the door. "I don't believe you."

A smile plays on Darry's lips. He's in his recliner, reading the _Tulsa Star_. "I told you what would happen if you kept going the way you're going."

"So you get me tossed off the paper? You had no right to do that."

Smoke practically billows from his ears. He stands. "I'm not going to sit back and let you work yourself up. I had a talk with Max." Darry looks smug. "It's about time someone did."

"I'm 20-years-old, Dar! I mean, Jesus Christ, how long are you gonna keep this up?" I let my arms drop at my side, the stick hitting the ground. Darry's eyes focus like he's just now seeing it. His eyes dim.

He shakes his head. "Forget about it."

"Forget about what? You mean, _my job_?"

"That's not a job, Ponyboy."

"You mean it's not the job you want for me." I don't think Darry ever really expected me to stick with the whole writing-journalism thing. Sure, he nodded and agreed and supported a few years ago, but he expected me to get bored. It's not what he wanted.

Darry's face softens. "You should go back to school, kiddo. The war's still on, you could get called up and—"

"You think anyone would take me with this?" I gesture to the side of my body and Darry flinches. "Come off it, Dar. Look, I know you're worried but I got to live my life."

"And what about us?" Darry says, his voice rising. The calm that was there, no longer. "Everyday I'm waiting for something to happen to you. Do you know how that feels? Do you even get that?"

"Darry, I don't—"

"You don't want to talk about it? Tough. And you know what else I want to talk about? How about those cigarettes you've been smoking?"

I raise my eyes to the ceiling but say nothing.

"I knew you were smoking again. I god damn knew it." Darry swears darkly. "You're trying to kill yourself about 15 different ways, Ponyboy. This whole writing thing that you're doing – taking off for Miami. You shouldn't be going around trying to get yourself killed for a fucking story."

"Yeah, because that was the plan."

He shoots me a glare. "You're a writer so act like one for once. Sit at a goddamn desk and stay there."

I stand my ground. "You had no right to do that."

"I don't give a shit," Darry says. "It's done."

OoO

I get halfway around the block before I realize it's a mistake. I left the stick at the house. I won't get far. Hell, I don't know if I can _get_ back.

Damn Darry. For being right. For getting involved in my mess. But he sure as hell doesn't make anything easy. He's unhappy when I stay and unhappy when I leave. You'd think he'd be able to let go by now.

Catching my breath, I pat the pockets of my jeans. They're empty. I left my smokes at home. I begin to move again, kicking at rocks. It's dark out, a slight chill in the air. Fall's on its way. The stars twinkle above and I think of that Miami night in the alley. Stars sure look different when you're on your back.

I sink down onto the curb as my stitches cramp up. I rest my head in my hands and don't even look up as the truck pulls up, crunching gravel. It could be them. They could finish what they started and I wouldn't have the energy to move. But I'm not afraid. Just tired.

A door opens, soft boot steps, and then, "It's a sorry sight when you need a ride, kid."

"Can you help me in the car or what?"

He grabs my hand. "Sure thing, Ponyboy."

OoO

We sit in his car smoking a block from my house. He doesn't say a word. I'm beginning to like Steve Randle.

"Got to hand it to Superman. He sure knows how to get what he wants."

I grunt and stamp my cigarette in the ashtray. I shift in my seat. "He just doesn't know when to quit."

"Maybe he can't. Ever think of that?"

"Oh, so now you're a philosopher?"

Steve snatches the pack away as I reach for another smoke. "Get out of here, smartass." He presses a car part in my hand. "Give this to your brother."

I give him a sheepish smile. "Thanks for the ride, man."

I go back to the house. Darry's nowhere to be seen but his bedroom light is on. When I shut the front door it clicks off. I bolt the lock and pick up my stick.

OoO

I write Max's stupid stories.

I ask him to leave my name off the bylines.

OoO

Darry and I regress to how we were before I left for Miami. Him, silent and brooding, me, frustrated with everything in my vicinity. I keep working; keep trying to run, but my body wants to shut off. Give up.

And even though all this time I've been home, been trying to chase away the paranoia, it's still there. My brothers have been breathing easier. I've been telling Nick we're home free. That we both need to forget and move on. I'm good at that. I could live in denial.

It's when I see the black Cadillac again – I swear it's the same one from the barbeque – that I think, We're gonna die. Nick and I – we're already dead.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thank you for the reviews…more to come…EEEE…_

_But seriously. I have a ton planned. But just slap me a little bit if this gets boring. _

_XO,  
Feisty_


	5. A Trip

A Trip

OoO

"Anything good?"I ask Nick, sliding into the chair across from him. Max passes by the window, raps on it once, mouths _coffee_ and disappears.

"Asshole," Nick mutters. He shuffles papers around. "The news is dry, Curtis."

I sit back in my chair. Nick pulls a cigarette out, lights it, blowing smoke into a haze above his face. His hair's greasy, eyes dull. Guilt and worry on his mind.

He's still doing this.

"You ain't been around to the house much." When he's silent, I continue. "You don't have to stay away, Nick. No one knows anything." I stretch across the table, my side giving a cramp. "You're still blaming yourself. You gotta stop. It's gonna make you crazy."

Nick laughs; it's a disgusted sound. "How come you're taking this so well?"

"I'm not," I say, my voice thin and dry. "I just don't think about it."

"I shoulda been there," Nick says. He looks on the verge of a nervous breakdown and he's not making me feel any better. "And I wasn't. And I'm so fucking sorry about that Ponyboy. I'd tell it to Darry if I could."

_And Darry'd put a fist through your face so fast…_

I'm so sick and numb to all of this. I run a hand through my hair. "Cut the shit, Nick. You don't owe me or anyone else an explanation. You were just doing your job. We both were."

I pull out a cigarette and light the bastard up.

OoO

"Table," Liz says.

"Five o'clock, Dar," I say as my brother hunts around the house for his car keys. He snatches them off the coffee table, shoving them into his pocket with a sheepish grin. Darry breaks ground on the site today; I've never seen him so nervous. Amused, I just watch from my spot at the kitchen table.

Liz takes the coffee cup from his hands, standing on tiptoes to give him a kiss. I turn the newspaper over, trying to stay out of their way.

"Good luck," I shout as he heads out.

He tosses me a grin, finally speaking to me, caught up in the excitement of today. "Thanks kiddo. See you tonight."

"He's so excited," Liz says, turning around and walking into the kitchen. She starts cleaning up the breakfast dishes. I check the clock on the wall, her shift at the law firm probably starts soon.

"I can't think of anyone who deserves it better than Darry."

"It's all he's talked about," she says, opening the fridge to stick the orange juice in. "He's got his business. And you're back, you're safe. Now he's got all he wants."

I drink my coffee. He gives me too much credit.

OoO

A few days later, fate throws me a bone. I've been stagnating, taking the shitty stories Max has been doling out when I stumble upon something wrong. Very wrong. And I mean stumble in the literal sense of the phrase.

OoO

Trying to work on what little running moves I have is not easy. Christ, to be back in high school. To be back on a red, clay track with a healthy body. That's what I'm aiming for.

One day.

One day.

Instead, I briskly walk across the gravel road of Old Cavern Ridge – a long and winding path made up of trees and deep sloping ledges that careen into brush down below. The walking makes me impatient, I'm better than this, but I will myself to go slow. Get the strength back for now.

I go for about a mile before needing to call it quits. I'm already thinking about trying to hitch a ride back into town when a dusty Camaro zips by. I feel the brush of the mirror against my elbow. Shocked, I jump, and go stumbling back.

"Shit," I swear when I realize what's going to happen. I drop and trip over the low edge of the ditch. I take about three rolls and then land on all fours in grubby brush. I swear again, and dip low, stretching out my throbbing side, placing my hands above my head.

I stiffen as my hands touch something wet. Something fleshy. Curious, pain forgotten about for now, I straighten up, peering forward. I move the weeds and leaves aside and—

My eyes shoot open. "Oh, Jesus Christ."

There, lying in the brush of Old Cavern Ridge is a thin, white arm. A bloody stump.

OoO

The chair's uncomfortable, the police station hot and stuffy. My right leg's bouncing a mile a minute, and all I can think about, the sickest thing in the world, is that this story better be mine. Max better beg me to write it.

The old secretary brings me a cup of coffee, pats my shoulder. "There you are, honey."

"Thanks."

The police officer comes back from the front desk. "Sorry about that son."

"It's okay." I sip my coffee.

"Now where were we…"

He squeezes himself into a chair beside me, his gut spilling over his pants. We're having this conversation in the general waiting room of the station, something that leads me to believe they don't know what they're doing yet. Which is a relief because I'd rather not get hauled back to an interrogation room. That's one place I don't need to end up.

"Oh yes…you were out on a run…some Evel Knievel scared the bejesus out of you and you took a tumble down into the Ridge."

"Yes sir."

He chuckles. "A mighty unfortunate tumble I might add."

"Yes sir." I move to pull out another cigarette when I realize I've smoked the entire pack. I chew my nail. "Say, do you think this is related to that murder the Ridge?"

"What murder?" he says and then laughs, his belly flopping around. "Oh you mean the Lincoln boy? That was an accident. Think he was sick or somethin'. Just keeled over." He shakes his head, his jowls wobbling. "This. This here's different. A lone body part don't count as murder. Foul play, sure. But not murder."

_So when does it count as murder, when the head shows up? _I sit up straight, instinct kicking in. "So it was just an arm?"

The cop scratches his head and I can't tell if he's playing dumb or not. "That's what we found."

The hunch inside of me deepens. It's connected to the Ridge. I know it is.

"You need a lift home, son?" the cop asks, done with the conversation, and I rip my attention from my thoughts.

"No. No thanks," I say. Pulling up in a police car is not something Darry needs right now. I stand, wishing I had my stick for balance.

OoO

I call Soda from a payphone outside of K-Mart. "Can you come get me?" I ask him.

He's there in ten.

OoO

"Whoa, Pone," Soda says when I tell him about what's happened. He frowns, his forehead crinkling. "That's pretty goddamn serious. Where's the body?"

"They don't know."

His lip curls. "So how'd a random body part end up at the Ridge?"

"That's what I want to know too." It's not every day an arm winds up in my lap, I want to say but don't. Soda pulls himself up off the couch. His apartment is dark, Steve still at work.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Sure I'm okay." I rub my hands on my jeans. I haven't had enough time to really process the last four hours and now I'm feeling slightly sick about all of it. I still need to call Max though. I've got the firsthand account of his next big story. The buzz begins its droning.

Soda brings me some water. "You wanna stay here tonight?" When I nod, he says, "I'll call Darry and let him know."

He leaves the room. I try to stretch out on the couch, the weight of my body heavy and numb. I think about the arm. I think about Miami.

OoO

"So you go tripping over a dead body and you think I'm going to publish this shit?" Max snaps but he's smiling that smile that tells me he'll publish it.

This morning, I had gone back to the police station to interview the cop and when I told him I worked for the _Tulsa World _he immediately had clammed up. Eventually, I got him to talk.

"Just publish it, man. It's a story. Better than anything we've had lately."

He takes his shades off. "What about softballs?"

"Screw softballs." I limp across the room, lean down in that familiar motion designed to stretch out my back and rest my palms on top of his desk. "C'mon, Max. My brother doesn't have anything to do with this. I'm a writer. So let me write."

"Fine. You got it. But when that big brother of yours starts yelling his head off, leave me out of it."

"Deal."

"How come you keep stumbling into shit like this?"

"Just lucky I guess."

Max's smile dies. "Curtis, I'd hate to see the day when you're unlucky."

OoO

_BODY PART FOUND AT THE RIDGE_

_By P.M. CURTIS_

_TULSA, OK — Police found a human limb Wednesday, two miles past the grove at Old Cavern Ridge._

_An unnamed source stumbled upon the part at about 2:30 p.m. The police were immediately summoned. _

"_Only one body part was found," said Police Lt. Ollie Newman. "Right now we can't determine the cause but we suspect foul play is involved somehow."_

_Investigators don't believe the parts had been in the sewer too long, Newman said._

_The medical examiner's office is examining the pieces. Authorities are also checking on missing person's reports. Persons who may have information pertaining to this case are urged to contact the authorities… _

OoO

Liz is shaking her head as Darry reads the paper during dinner. "I don't believe this," she says with a grimace. "How sick someone can be…"

I think of Wilkes. I _can_ believe it. Darry must be thinking about it too because when I look over his blue eyes are on me. He lowers the paper, clears his throat. "I hope the police can dig something up," he says, his meaning clear. He's fed up with me—this close, I can feel it.

How Darry's holding it together, I don't know. I've heard the talk around town – that I'm a college dropout, that I'm on drugs, that I really just got back from Vietnam – and I know Darry has too. Most of it's laughable, reminding me of the rumors in high school, but Darry doesn't find it funny. For once, I just want my brother to focus on himself instead of me.

I take a bite of green beans. They taste tinny and I push them away.

OoO

Another Sunday rolls around, another barbeque. It's still warm out, winter won't hit until October, and so we're out on the porch, getting in the weather while we can.

I take a swig of my beer, envious as Soda takes a dive to catch the football. I don't even bother attempting to play. And no one asks. They're good about it though, hiding their worry. They keep the how-do-you-feels to a minimum. Two-Bit hoots and dodges a punch from Steve. I smile and rub my jaw. Being home feels good.

OoO

The steel is cool and slick. The blood's sticky. I'm drowning in it. I hear the laugh, a laugh I'll never get out of my head. Malicious and dark. It's definitely me there on the ground. There's a shout and disappearing footsteps and the blood—

"The blood, so much—"

"Kiddo."

"The blood…"

"There is no blood, Pony. Wake up, c'mon..."

I open my eyes. Fly up, my hands moving to my side, my back. There's nothing. No stickiness. Just a raised scar and a tender pain. I touch my brow. Darry's looking at me with sorry eyes.

"You're okay," he says, stretching a tentative hand out. He squeezes my bicep. The light in the hall is on and I see Liz's shadow against the wall.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Go back to sleep, okay?"

I nod.

"I'm here," Darry says, getting up to go. He touches my shoulder. "You holler if you need anything, kiddo."

After a few seconds, the light in the hall clicks off. I let out a breath. I'd really like to stop dying every night in my dreams.

OoO

Nick and I are going over a possible story when Max strolls into the small office we share. It's so small our desks are pushed together but it's all we need. Max sits on the edge of the desk. "I got a tip today, from someone claiming they know something about the Arm case."

So far the cops haven't been able to ID a body or a person with the arm I found at the Ridge. Something I'm not surprised about. Tulsa cops aren't something I have a lot of faith in.

Nick, scribbling on his arm with a pen, shoots me a glance. "What'd they say?"

"Well, here's the thing," Max says. "The guy won't talk to me. He won't talk to the cops. What he wants is to talk to you, Curtis."

"Why?"

"Read your story. Looked you up. Said he liked your name. That it interested him."

I laugh. "So let's talk. Get me the phone and I'll call him."

The smile grows on Max's face. "Well the thing is…he wants to see you. In person. He's claiming he's…" Max jumps his fingers in the air. "A psychic or some shit like that."

Nick sits up. "What's that now?"

"Really?"

"Says he can give you a lead. Tell you about the story."

"Okay," I say with a shrug. "I'll meet him. What?" Max is still smiling, broader now.

"He's in Oklahoma State Penn." Nick groans. Max slides off the desk. "How do you feel about going to prison, Ponyboy?"

OoO

It could be good, Max had argued, real good if this story turns out to be something. But now, beginning the drive down to the prison, I'm beginning to doubt my boss's words.

"This is going to be a waste of time," I mutter.

Nick rolls his eyes. "C'mon where's your sense of adventure?"

I laugh. "I'm trying to be a journalist, Nick. You think Woodward and Bernstein got anywhere by interviewing psychics?"

"You never know."

"Reputation's everything."

"Hate to break it to you, but you've already got one. Had since you were 14." Nick pulls his truck onto the freeway. "You tell the Big One where you're headed?"

"No way, man. Things just barely settled down at my place. I ain't itchin to start anything again." I lean my head back against the seat and shut my eyes. Beside me, on the floor of the truck, the stick's propped tall. I rest my hand on its smooth handle.

"He's says he's psychic, Nick, things don't get much shittier than that.

"Why're you arguing, Curtis? It's what you wanted. It's a story."

"This'll be nothing," I say. "Not even worth mentioning."

OoO

It's about a 90 minute drive to McAlester, OK, where the Oklahoma State Penn, the state's only maximum-security prison, sits. I do the sign-in thing, Nick hovering in the waiting area. Max pulled some strings and managed to get me added to the guest list for our "psychic" Willy Wiese.

A guard stops me before I can go through. He points at the stick. "No weapons."

"But it's just a—never mind." Turning back, I give the stick to Nick. He shoots a scowl at the guard but says nothing.

"Ask him what the winning lotto numbers are," Nick calls out before I leave.

OoO

Willy Wiese is on death row. Scheduled to be executed soon. This whole conversation, him claiming to have information, strikes me as a last ditch effort to pull some strings and avoid the electric chair.

I scan his file. My stomach roils. He killed his family in cold blood. Twenty years ago, bashed the brains out of—

I turn away. Shut it. I'll read it later.

I'm waiting in a small detention room, sitting across the table waiting for Willy Wiese. I'm beginning to wonder what in the hell I'm doing here when a buzzer sounds and I start. I knock my pencil off the table. Irritated, I stare at it, knowing it's going to take a hell of a lot of effort to pick it up.

The door opens and a tall, thin man shuffles in with a guard. He's balding, his cheekbones practically jutting out of his skin, eyes hollow. His handcuffs clank, his orange jumpsuit the only spot of color in the gray room. His first words are: "Here, let me get 'dat for you, because I know you can't."

And then he dips, grabs it and sets it back on the tin table. The Number 2 Pencil begins to roll toward me.

OoO

_Aha...and the plot thickens._

_Please pardon typos._

_Everyone who's been reading and reviewing, you're all fab. Thank you from the pit of my soul. Keep it up and I'll keep up the updates._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	6. A Psychic

A Psychic

OoO

"And it's da boy with da name. Mine's pronounced _wise_," Willy Wiese says. "_My_ last name. In case you were wond'rin."

His grin is gap-toothed and ugly. He sits in the chair and the guard barks a time limit before leaving us. The door slams, a loud echo in the small room.

I grip the pencil. "I wasn't."

"I pictured you like dis," he says. "Just like dis."

Uncomfortable, I force myself not to drop his gaze. "My boss said you wanted to see me? About something I wrote."

"Oh yes, you get to da point My Boy."

Lifting his hands he rests his shackles and wrists on the table separating us. His nails are short and black, tattoos on his knuckles. The left says K-I-L-L, the right L-I-V-E. His accent is thick and different, not an Oklahoma drawl but more like a southern Blanche Dubois's.

Jesus. If Darry or Soda saw what I saw…they'd flip. But there's something in me that likes this chase. For Soda it's girls, for Darry it's work. For me…it's finding answers to questions. I look at Willy Wiese. As creepy as those answers may be.

He brings his index finger to his temple. "You don't believe dis, do you?"

I have to grin. "Not particularly. But I was curious, so I came."

"Curiosity gets trouble into trouble, ain't dat right?"

"Let's talk about the arm." I grab my notepad. "What do you—"

"Now, now, now, dat ain't nice. You got to buy a gal dessert before you get to the real prize. You understand dat, don't you, My Boy?"

The buzz is back in my head, the whine that blurs sound and color. I look up to the cracked ceiling, making sure it's all in my head, before I look back at Willy. "I don't have time for this. I don't believe in this. So talk and make it quick."

"Alright 'den," his voice comes out gravelly and cold. "What's it like living with the limp?"

I feel my face drain of its color. It's not that I believe him; he could have got word about my accident from anyone. It's the harshness, the truth of his words that sting.

"How fast can you run now? Now dat you're crippled? Now dat your body is so broken and worn dat nothing will ever—"

I push away from the table, grabbing up my file and my notepad. "Take whatever you wanted to say and shove it, Wiese."

I bang on the door and shout for the guard. The knob twists, it opens and as I'm stepping out, Willy Wiese shouts, "Oh, Ponyboy Michael Curtis…"

I wheel around. He has his eyes closed, the side of his mouth twitching. "They'll find the head. Down by the train tracks. Congratulations. It's a beautiful boy."

OoO

"It's bullshit is what it is…"

"Jesus, Ponyboy, hold up…"

I shove the doors open and burst into the sun. I cover my eyes at its brightness. "Christ," I swear. My chest hurts. The truth hurts.

"Bad news?"

"No news. It was a waste of my time." I smear a hand through my hair. "I can't believe Max talked me into this."

"Yeah, well, he's talked you into worse things." Nick peers close. "You okay? You seem shook up."

I make for the truck. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

OoO

"Pony," Liz says, clearing my plate. "You barely touched your food."

_They'll find the head. Down by the train tracks. Congratulations. It's a beautiful boy._

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumble. "Here," I say, standing. "Let me do the dishes."

I take them from her, ignoring Darry and Soda's eyes on me. My family moves out into the living, talking in low voices. Soda's been staying over more and more since I've been back.

I collect the plates, dump them in the sink, and start filling the sink with bubbles. But it's still there. That niggling feeling. I shut the water off. After a long internal debate, I call Max.

"I don't want to get into it," I say when he picks up. "But I'm saying this so you have it. I told you first. Just in case."

It's that _just in case_ factor that's hooked me.

I tell him about the head and the train tracks. He's silent for a moment and then says, "Good work, Curtis."

I don't know what's so good about it.

OoO

Willy Wiese got to me. And just with words. I can't run. I can't do anything right. I take stupid, idiotic leads and nearly get myself killed. And for what? Not for my job. Nothing's panned out.

I'm thinking this after my phone call with Max, digging around in my desk drawer for a pen when I feel the bottle. I rip it out and it's one of my old prescriptions that I stashed away a long time ago. Filled to the brim. I pop the cap and pour a handful in my palm. I swear and fling the pills and the bottle across the room. They bounce off the walls like shrapnel.

"Hey, what do you say we—Pony?"

Soda's staring at the white pills scattered across the room. He looks at me. "You okay?"

"I didn't take any. I just found 'em."

"Pony," he says, crossing the room. "I wouldn't blame you if you did." He gives me a little hug and I feel his heart beat fast beneath his DX shirt. He smells like cigarettes and gasoline, a familiar smell I've known all my life.

I pull away. "I'm never gonna get better, Soda."

He shakes his head. "You can't say that Ponyboy. It's only been month. A little more."

"What if I can never run again? What if I really can't?"

"Don't say that. You will, kiddo." Soda squeezes my hand, the sadness in his voice unmistakable. "Just give it time."

OoO

A night later there's a fast rapping on the front door. Impatient punches. I fly out of my room – as fast as I can fly these days – and stop in front of it, hand wrapped around the knob. It's nothing; Vinny Trafficante wouldn't go around announcing his arrival in the middle of the night.

I swing the door open.

"You ever hear of a phone?" I snap as Max stands there. It's two in the morning and the idiot's still wearing his sunglasses. I glance over my shoulder but Darry's already there, shotgun in hand. Seeing Max, he lowers it slightly.

"What do you want? It's—"

"They found the head, Curtis."

"What?"

"It was on the Central Freight tracks. Some high school kids skipping curfew had the unfortunate find."

A shiver goes through my body. I grip the doorknob to keep from falling. Max gestures. "Get your coat. Let's go scope out the scene, the cops are just getting there."

I turn and Darry's shaking his head. He looks confused but furious. "Pony, no…"

I grab my jacket. The stick. "I'll be home; I'll come back, Dar. I promise."

OoO

They identify the head as a missing 16-year-old around town: Billy Bauer. His parents thought he had run away a month ago and hadn't bothered alerting the cops. The hand I found at the Ridge is his too.

Luckily, Max is the one who gets to explain the weird situation to the police. This time he gets someone a bit brighter than the cop I last spoke to. He talks to the detectives, tells them about Willy Wiese. The cops go see him at Oklahoma Penn.

But he won't talk. The only one he'll talk to is me. And having nothing to lose, and everything to gain, they ask Max to send me in again.

OoO

"I don't like it," Darry says after I gently broach the subject that is called Willy Wiese.

"You ain't Max's guinea pig," Soda says in a soft voice.

"You don't even believe in this," Darry snaps. "So why do it?"

"It's like a puzzle," I admit. "I want to see how he's doing it." And even though I don't particularly want to go back after last seeing Willy Wiese, I'm still curious. He makes me feel like worms are slithering around inside my body; dirty, slimy.

"Anyone with a little research can figure it out. You should know that Ponyboy."

Darry stomps across his bedroom, fastening a watch around his wrist. Turning his back on us, Darry mutters something. I only catch a few words – _Watergate_, _Idiots_, _Woodward_ and _Bernstein_ – but I'm guessing he isn't a big fan of any of it.

OoO

"I take it 'dey found the head," Willy Wiese says as he's led in. He shuts his eyes. "Billy Bauer…sweet sixteen…Will Rogers High…two loving parents and—"

"You could have read that in the paper."

An eye cocks open. A blue so cold it's almost white. A slithering smile appears on his lips. "You got me 'dere," he says. "Fair and square."

Willy folds his hands together. "It's goan get worse…" Eyes close. "He takes them and keeps them until he's ready. He picks the parts off. Keeps some, gives some back. 'Dat first one…the whole one up at the Ridge…it wasn't no accident…"

I listen, scribbling this down. He means the Lincoln boy Max and the cops had chalked up to a mere illness.

"It was his first try…it went bad…he didn't have the chance. But now…now he's had a taste and it will keep happening. More and more all over Tulsa." Willy closes his eyes. "He strangles them…an odd cord…colorful…"

I stop writing. "Give me a name," I ask. "Of the next boy."

"Can't. But I can tell you…six days. Sunset."

Darry's voice rings in my head and I shut my notepad.

"You're not a psychic. You can't even give me a name." I nearly laugh. Anyone could make this up. Hell, even Two-Bit could be more inventive. "You just got lucky last time."

"Lucky, My Boy. 'Dat's what dey call you too. Until one day dey won't."

I smirk. "Nice try."

OoO

I read the rest of his file that night. It's not light reading and I'm sick to my stomach by the time I finish.

Born and raised in New Orleans, Willy lived there until he was in high school before his family ended up moving to Oklahoma for his father's job. Then at the age of 25, Willy Wiese butchered his entire family on a farmhouse in Enid, Oklahoma in 1959. His older sister and little brother killed in their beds. His parents as they watched the Ed Sullivan show. I think of what Johnny said, there sure is a lot of blood in people. We keep trying to keep it in when everyone else just wants to let it out.

OoO

"You're late," Darry says, admonishing Soda.

Soda blushes. "Sorry, Dar. I got held up." He turns to the crowd smashed together in our living room, which consists of the usual, plus a few extras from the DX, even Nick and Two-Bit's mom are there. "Sorry everyone."

"I bet you did," Darry snaps and turns away, on a short fuse these days. Liz hurries after him.

"Are you mad at me too?" Soda asks, finding me in the mass of people. He pulls me aside, keeping a tight grip on my arm.

"Nah," I say. "It's your own birthday party; you're allowed to be late."

He grins. Ruffles my hair. There's a lipstick smudge on the collar of his shirt. He smells floral, feminine. His breath smells like liquor. I lean close. "Are you in love, Sodapop?"

"I ain't kiddo. I wish I were. But I'm happy."

OoO

The faint strands of the guitar sound over the radio. Mick Jagger's voice begins its drone. "_Tiiiime is on my side… yes it is…_"

"I hate this fucking song," I say as Nick meets me on the porch. The atmosphere inside the house is heavy. Combustible. Everyone's fueled with alcohol so anything could go wrong. Darry looks more upset by the hour and Soda's walking on sunshine. It's a messy combination.

"Listen…Pony…Curtis…"

"What is it?" Nick's practically sweating and I'm surprised he's come around the house with Darry here so it must be serious.

"I think they're in town."

"What?"

"Vin—"

"_Don't_." My voice is loud and people stare. I see their faces through the screen door. "Don't, Nick. Don't say that name."

"I saw a Caddy pulling down Main Street. Going slow-like. Tinted windows."

"It's all in your head," I snap, wishing he wouldn't be so stupid. Or maybe I'm wishing he's wrong, when I really know he's right. "You're paranoid, you're—"

He sticks his finger in my face. "Don't you fucking tell me what I am," he hisses. "You don't know what it's like Curtis, so fuck you. This goddamn guilt I got."

I rub my face, wondering how we got to this point. All I had hated a minute ago was a song.

"Nick, Jesus, I'm sorry, man. I—"

"Live in denial all you want Curtis, but when the Tulsa PD finds your body in a ditch someplace I won't be laughing."

He leaves me on the porch and when I turn around there's Steve Randle sitting in a deck chair smoking.

OoO

"So Soda's in love and you're on your last legs," Steve says, shrugs. "So to speak."

"I don't need this from you now, Steve." I prop myself up on the porch railing. I slam down the brown alcohol that's being passed around. Grimacing, I rub my chest and cough. "Save it for the eulogy."

"I ain't gonna give it to you, kid. I caught enough of that to get the point that you're in deep shit. More than either of your brothers bothered to tell me about." Steve looks angry, like he had the right to know more and is wondering why he wasn't let in on the secret, whatever it is.

Steve tips his glass. "Someone trying to finish what they started with you?"

"If I make it to Christmas I'll be surprised."

"Shit kid," Steve says, expression disturbed. "I hope that ain't the case."

A loud chorus of "Happy Birthday" begins inside the house. Steve and I stare at each other for a long minute until he gives me a nod and I rejoin the party.

OoO

"You look pretty crappy," Flora says simply.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." But I have to smile.

Bouncing, she plops on the hard couch next to me. "Stubs told me you came by. I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"I read the paper you know." She juts her chin out, lank blonde hair bobbing against her shoulders. "Is there really a killer in Tulsa?"

"Maybe," I say with a shrug. "We'll see, I guess."

Flora scrutinizes me until I shift. She says, "You look sad, Pony. You don't look right."

"I'm okay. How are you doin'? Still eating puzzles?"

She laughs but slaps my arm. "I'm trying not to," she says seriously. "Maybe I'll get out of here one day."

She shouldn't be here anyway. From what I've seen of Flora she's just weird. She's not crazy. No more so than the rest of us. Her hand finds mine and I glance down, heat spreading across my face.

"I want you to be the same again. I want you to be Pony." Flora's face brightens, as she watches something over my shoulder. "Turn around, Pooooooooooooooonyboy," she sing-songs.

When I do, Marie and Stubs are coming around the corner.

Marie swoops in, her hug tight. "Oh my dear boy," Marie cackles in my ear. "I missed you so."

OoO

"I don't know," Stubs says when I tell him about Willy Wiese. "I could believe it."

"Oh you," Marie says. "Don't fill his head with nonsense." She squeezes my face. "Ain't no one can read minds."

Flora juts her chin out. "I believe it."

"You believe anything," Marie says, laughing. Her red curls bob as she shakes her head. "Before you go letting someone else into your head, Ponyboy, make sure you know what's in theirs."

"Wise words," Stub says. "From a wise woman."

I nod, ask him, "So what do you think I should do?" Over the years, I've taken to running stories and ideas by Chris Stubs. Though he's honest, he's not one to play it safe, and usually gives me a real answer.

"I think…" Stubs says, pulling out a cigarette. His shaggy black hair falls in his face, but his eyes twinkle. "Make sure you know how to play the game, Ponyboy. If you decide to play at all."

OoO

The kid is found exactly on day six at sunset. Max calls during dinner, gives me the grisly details and tells me to not bother going to the scene. It's already been cleaned up, Danny Harper's wallet found near his severed foot.

OoO

The next morning, Liz and Darry stand around the kitchen looking grim. Liz is in a pink robe, Darry has his coffee cup in hand. "What?" I ask as their heads swivel my way.

"Here." Darry shoves the paper in my face.

SERIAL KILLER IN TULSA is the front page headline of the _Tulsa World_. The story underneath is Max's.

I rip it from Darry's hands. _Max, you asshole_.

OoO

Max drums his fingers on his desk. "It happened. Six days. Sunset, like you – Willy—said."

"What's with the headline? Serial killer?"

"Drama."

"It's my story, Max," I say protectively. I wish Nick were here to help me out with this but Nick's pissed. Hell, he and Darry both. They think I'm making a mess of things but this is one thing I do well. I'm not letting it go.

"I know it is, Curtis. But I had to get it out and you're unavailable so I—"

"That's such a load and you know it."

There's a twinkle in his eye. "It's still yours, kid. I wouldn't take it from you. I just wanted to get a fire out there and light Tulsa up like the fourth of July."

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Rock my world and review._

_XO,  
Feisty_


	7. A Catch

_No update this Sunday. So you get an early chapter._

A Catch

OoO

With the newest development of another dead body, I decide to buy a car with the money in my college fund. Hitching and borrowing rides back and forth from my house to the penitentiary won't work anymore, especially since it looks like I'll be up there more than ever.

Luckily, I have friends in high places. I know exactly where to go.

OoO

"I need to buy a car."

"Whoa, whoa, you just can't proposition me like this."

"Two-Bit, it's a car lot. Besides, it's your job."

"It may be that kid. But it's so much more."

"Are you going to help me or not?"

"What do you want?"

"Nothing fancy." I survey the cars. "Just wheels. Something to get me from Point A to Point B."

Musing, Two-Bit strokes a sideburn. "Am I breaking any laws by helping you acquire this said vehicle?"

I roll my eyes. "No. I just need a ride."

"Am I required to throw in a pair of fuzzy dice and/or a free tank of gas?"

"No to the first, the gas wouldn't be too bad."

His face goes serious. "This have anything to do with that story you're working on?"

I sigh. "I just need to get to my job, Two-Bit. That's all."

"You know the wedding's in January right?"

"I do."

Two-Bit sticks his hands in his pockets. "Pony, if I get you this car, this amazing feat of machinery, you have got to do one thing for me."

"Name it."

"Whatever you do – however you do it – try to stay alive, will ya?"

"I will."

"And you treat it like a lady."

I laugh and shake my head. "Two-Bit, do you have a car for me or what?"

"I got an orange back in the shop."

"Don't you mean a lemon?"

Two-Bit grins and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "C'mere kid."

OoO

An orange it is.

When Soda and Steve see the car they both bust up laughing. "You uh, could have done better, Pone," Soda says, trying not to smile.

The 1960 Ford Ranchero I bought from Two-Bit is a rusted pile of parts that groan when it moves and is painted about as fluorescent orange as one can get. But it's the first car I've ever owned so I don't mind it too much.

"I hope Two-Bit gave you the family discount on that piece of shit," Steve says, checking under the hood.

OoO

When Darry sees the car he ain't too happy. Because he already knows. He comes outside to look the car over and barely gives it more than a glance before asking, "You cashed in your college fund, didn't you?"

"Wasn't doin anything else with it," I mumble.

"That was supposed to be for your education," Darry says, crossing his arms stiffly. "Damn it, Ponyboy. It wasn't for you to throw away on whatever idiotic idea jumps into your head."

"Real nice, Dar."

As good as Darry and I are, we keep butting heads over this one thing that I don't think he'll ever get over. He'll never let me grow up.

"I don't know what you're doing anymore. Giving up on school. Taking off for god knows where…"

"If this is about Miami—"

He cuts me off. "I don't want to talk about Miami, Ponyboy."

I get it then. I'm fine with what I've been doing with my life, but to Darry, I'm a disappointment. He wants me to be the good one – the one who finally made it to college, the one who got away from our Greaser life. It's fine if Sodapop drops out, but not me. He expects more and while I appreciate that, appreciate his faith, it's also irritating because I'm not Darry. I never will be.

"Yeah, well, what do you want to talk about then?" I snap, angry now. I lean back against the side of the Ranchero. "Because I'm kind of getting sick of having this same conversation every damn day."

His eyes flash, ice-white in their intensity. "You need to get over yourself, kid. Stop living your life in the clouds because the next time you—Hey!"

Surprised, Darry and I both jump out of the way as droplets of water splash over us. A steady stream of water is arcing across the driveway, and Liz walks around the side of the house, holding the spray gun of the garden hose in her hands.

"Liz, Jesus…" Darry pats at his now-wet shirt. "What the hell are you doing?"

She lets go of the trigger, the water snapping off with a curt sucking sound. "Stopping you before you say something you shouldn't." Liz looks at Darry and then at me. "I swear, sometimes I don't know how two people who love each other so much can fight so damn bad."

Darry's face turns red and he glances at the ground. I hide a smile, if anyone can shut Darry Curtis up it's Liz. She waves the hose. "You two done or you want some more?"

"Yeah," Darry says. "We're done." Lightly, he bangs a closed fist on the hood of the Ranchero and ends up grunting, "Looks like a good car, Ponyboy."

OoO

"It's just getting started," Willy warns as we're finishing up our next visit. My Boy."

I still don't truly believe Willy Wiese but I'm determined to hear him out. It's intriguing – the man who says he can read minds. And even though I doubt there's really a serial killer in Tulsa, I'll admit it – I'm revitalized. It's fun; I have a damn good story to write about. It's about time.

OoO

Nothing happens for the next week. I forget about Willy Wiese; he's just one story out of hundreds. I write about a possible mall that might go in downtown and a hunger strike some protestors are on. And I do something stupid. Late one night I write about Miami. I fill ten whole pages and then stop. It's cathartic but it's also a mistake. Because now it's in writing. It's real and it's living in my bedroom.

OoO

Nick catches me in the parking lot of the _Tulsa World_. The brown brick high rise towers above, the mid-day sun glinting off its windows. It's the first time I've seen him since Soda's birthday party, Max too caught up in the case to realize his other reporter has gone MIA.

"Some ride," Nick says. He's got his backpack slung over one shoulder, and a baseball cap stuck low on his head. "This thing even move?"

"Blame Two-Bit," I tell him. "Everything's his fault."

He gives a weak smile. "Listen, Curtis, I'm shouldn't have freaked out on you. I'm sorry I said those things."

"It's okay. I get it."

"Sometimes I think you're the only one." He lets out a frustrated sigh. "How come you get it? How come you don't hate me?"

I think about Johnny and Dallas and even Bob. Nick's living with the guilt of what he didn't do, which is a shitty thing. I'm living with something like that too, only he's taking it worse. He's got more to lose if people found out. I know he's worried about Max and my brothers but that shouldn't matter to him. They'll never know unless I tell them and I won't. Nick's an honorable guy though; his conscience won't let him forget.

We both made some of the worst decisions of our lives in Miami.

"Because," I say, slowing walking toward the sidewalk. Nick follows. "I can't be angry about that. It was an accident. Shit happens." I search his face. "I don't blame you, man. I never will."

He glances away, glances up at the sun.

OoO

I catch him on the way home from work. He's coming out of the movie house. Even though his back's to me, I can tell it's Sodapop. He's got that long-legged, easy stride. His arm is wrapped around some girl's waist. I can't see her face but her hair is to her shoulders and whitish blonde. She's wearing blue jeans and a pink sweater. It's an odd time for my brother to be out in downtown Tulsa– three in the afternoon, and he's wearing his DX shirt, making me think he took a longer-than-long lunch break.

They turn the corner and disappear.

OoO

"I thought he was seeing someone," Darry says with a frown after I finish telling him about the mystery girl I spotted Soda with at the movie theater. "I don't know why he doesn't just tell us." Darry pushes the cart down the grocery store aisle. I grab up two boxes of cereal, dump them in the cart.

Darry and I seem to have cycles these days: we're fine, we fight, we apologize. The relationship with my brother bipolar in its intensity. He just wants the best for me but sometimes I just wish he'd relax and get off my back.

"He's probably nervous or something." I catch my brother's eye. "You know…after Shelly…"

Darry snorts, stops the cart, and waits for me to hobble up to him. "We forget anything?"

I check out the contents: Eggs, butter, milk, cereal, bread…. I snap my fingers. "Chocolate syrup."

Darry laughs. "Of course."

I backtrack to the front of the store, pulling myself along with the stick. When I return, I add the syrup to the cart. Still thinking of Soda, I say, "I guess he'll tell us when he wants."

"It probably ain't serious," Darry muses. "He probably wants to wait to see if—"

A burst of laughter coming from one of the aisles cuts Darry off. A group of about three kids stand there chuckling. They glance over at us, whispering. The taller boy, wearing a baseball cap, sneers and begins miming a limp. They point. They laugh.

Darry lets go of the cart. I grab his arm. "It's okay, Dar."

He shakes me off and stalks over to the group. I let out a low groan but stay where I am so we don't attract anymore attention.

"You got something you want to say?" His voice is loud, steady. Darry stands over the kids, fists clenched, jaw ticking. I've seen the look before, at rumbles, and know it's a dare. If the kids are smart they'll run now.

They shrink back, although a smile lingers on the tall boy's mouth. He's braver, drawing himself up. "Not really, man." He nods my way. "Just wondering where his wheelchair was. Ain't every day we see a—"

Darry's hand shoots out, grabbing the tall boy by the collar, jerking him forward. "You think that's funny?" Darry's other hand disappears briefly and then the tall boy doubles over. He lets out a soft, pain filled gasp.

"Hurts don't it?" Darry asks. "You remember that the next time you start laughing." In one sharp movement, Darry releases him with a light shove. The tall boy stumbles back against a pyramid of soup cans, causing them to go crashing to the ground. He steadies himself, face pale, legs shaky.

"C'mon, Ponyboy," Darry says, swiftly walking past me. "Let's check out and go."

OoO

Darry stops me before we get out of the truck. We're pulled into our driveway, groceries sitting in the bed of the truck. After cutting the engine, he keeps his hands wrapped tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white. "I shouldn't have done that," he says slowly, haltingly, as if he's trying to decide whether to say anything or not. "But damn, Ponyboy, it was hard not to."

OoO

"Here."

A smile spreads across my face as I take the folder from Nick. I open it, catch the name and then blanch. "Where in the hell did you get these?"

"I know someone who knows someone."

It's the Medical Examiner's report on Billy Bauer. After they found the head. Reading through, I take in the information: …_examination of the body revealed a ligature mark (known throughout this report as Ligature A) on the neck below the mandible. Immediate Cause of death__: Asphyxia due to ligature strangulation._ _The strangulation marks on the neck aren't consistent with rope…_

I move onto the next folder, the one on Henry Lincoln, the boy whose death was chalked up to an illness. And though the report reads an "accidental death" I notice that the coroner had underlined "suspicious marks on neck" in the _Additional Notes_ section of the document.

Frowning, I glance up. "Did you tell Max?"

Nick sits down at his desk. "Not yet. Think we should wait?"

"Yeah," I say, feeling sick. "Let's wait and see."

OoO

And then it happens.

Two kids kidnapped in one day. I drop in front of the TV, lowering myself to my knees. _Two for 'da price of one._

Two-Bit and Kathy, over for dinner, watch from the kitchen. Kathy's at the table with Liz, showing her books of possible flower arrangements. "Is this for real, Pone?" Two-Bit asks, scratching his head.

"Looks like it," I murmur. The newscaster flashes photos of the two boys, one of them the face from the MISSING flier – _Allen Rogers, 18 and Bradley Miles, 16…both disappeared from separate…authorities on the case…_

I give a little shout as the next story – a BREAKING NEWS – pops up on the screen. "What is it?" Darry asks, hovering over me. He's got his hands in his pockets.

I recoil from the screen. More body parts have been found. Three fingers outside of the police station, the hand found down by Lake Elmo, dug up by someone's German Shepard.

"This is bad," Two-Bit says, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Badder than bad."

The buzz inside my head starts its familiar ringing. Adrenaline floods my body. I've got to call Nick. The newscast is switching over to the weather and I stick a hand up. "Darry?" I ask.

Without missing a beat, Darry gently sets me on my feet. He opens his mouth, grips my elbow, keeping me close. "Pony, I don't want—" But he never finishes what he's going to say because Liz interrupts. Her pretty face is screwed up into an angry mess.

"In our town, Darry? This is happening here?"

"I don't know, Liz," Darry says tiredly. "I just don't know."

The phone starts ringing. I'll bet five bucks it's Max.

OoO

Max has news when I get down to the _Tulsa World_. The scattered body parts belong to Danny Harper, the boy whose foot was found at sunset.

He also says that the cops want to back out of cooperating with us. They think it's too weird, damaging to work with a psychic, but Max still wants to do it. He wants to cheat the system and stick it to the fuzz. "We'll do it ourselves, and when he's right that's when they'll start begging for help."

He smiles through his cigarette smoke. That's what Max is all about. Ask forgiveness before asking permission. He wants to be a star. I'm finding that I'm starting to agree with him. And agreeing with Max is a dangerous thing.

OoO

"They say you aren't working with the cops anymore."

"They barely believe it."

Willy looks gaunt, like a wild animal in a cage. He bares his teeth. "I want a deal."

"Yeah, I figured that. You're on death row; of course you want a deal."

"If you want those kids alive you'll figure something out."

I sit back, frustrated. "I'm just a reporter. I don't have sway over the cops. But…" I hold my hands out, about to feel as stupid as I've ever felt saying my next words. "If you give me something I'll write about it. Make it real so they believe. But it's got to be good."

Willy closes his eyes. The lids twitch. I roll my eyes to the ceiling, feeling the guard's watching through the one-sided mirror. "The next one...the name…Don—Donald Kelley…"

"Uh huh." I write the name down. "Anything else?"

"Halloween."

"Halloween?" I stand, gather my things, trying not to roll my eyes at the predictability of it all. "Okay, sure."

"Tiiiiiiiiime is on my siiiiiide…yes it is…tiiiiiiime is on my siiiiide…"

I stop before I can summon the guards. My eyes water, goose bumps breaking out over my skin. I turn back, whisper, "What'd you say?"

"It's one of my favorite songs. Wouldn't you say so?" Willy starts singing again. "Tiiiiiiiiime is on my siiiiiide…yes it is…tiiiiiiime is on my siiiiide…"

The guard opens the door and I practically run out of there.

OoO

_There's no way he could have known. Unless Nick…but Nick's not talking. Unless I…_

"We saved you some dinner," Darry says when I slink inside. It's late, about nine. The door creaks behind me and I linger in front of it.

"Pony?" Liz squints at me from her place on the couch. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost…"

"When's Halloween?"

"What?" Darry's frowning.

"Halloween, when is it?"

"Next Wednesday."

Liz nods. "Remember the party?"

"Party?"

She chuckles. "Evie's throwing it. Not that I'd mind missing it but…" Liz shrugs. She doesn't care for Evie too much. Evie's loud. She grates on people. I have no idea how Steve does it. "It's at Steve and Soda's so…"

It's news to me. A Halloween party is one of the last things I'd expect my brother and Steve to throw but leave it to Evie to pull the strings.

"Donald Kelley," I say aloud.

"Who?"

"Just remember that name, Dar. Remember I told you now."

OoO

_Pardon typos. Please review if you so deem it worthy._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	8. A Fire

_Just in time for Halloween…_

A Fire

OoO

It rains the day of Halloween, a cloud covering all of Tulsa, an odd chill in the air. Max has alerted the authorities about Willy Wiese's prediction but they give him the brush off. "We've done what we can. Now come tonight," he says, "We'll see who's laughing."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, thinking about how sick I'm going to feel if Willy Wiese is right. "This ain't a game, man."

Nick and I drink black coffee, watching the news with eagle-eyed intensity for any story about Donald Kelley. Finally when the clock hits 9pm, I decide I better make an appearance at Soda's.

OoO

"You made it!" Evie screeches in my ear. She's dressed in a long, flowing dress, her make-up bright and pink. Her hair covers one eye.

"Who're you?"

"Veronica Lake, silly."

"Oh."

She lets me in. "Who're you supposed to be?" Evie stares at the stick and I doubt anyone's told her what's happened. I brace for it. "Some sort of—"

"Whoa! Hey there!" Two-Bit slides into view, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. He shoves a beer into my hands. "Evie, you're looking good with that mouth. Now stop harassing the kid and go make yourself useful. Steve needs you by the bowl of bridge mix."

Her mouth says a really nasty word, and then she's sashaying away to Steve Randle, who looks uncomfortable in a suit. His hair's shaggy and there's a three-day old beard on his face.

"Who's Steve supposed to be?"

"Clark Gable," Two-Bit says with a grin. The stench of beer rolls off him in waves and I figure everyone's pretty lit up by now. "All night people have been mistaking him for Charles Manson."

I laugh and gesture at his outfit. Two-Bit's dressed as Raggedy Andy and no doubt Kathy's Raggedy Ann. "I see you found your true self."

"Shoot kid," Two-Bit says. "I might take to wearing this on a daily basis."

"See that he doesn't," Kathy says, scooting over. Her green eyes dance. "I charge you with that Ponyboy." She leans over and gives me a hug.

I've always liked Kathy, probably the only normal girl in the group, if you count Liz. She puts up with Two-Bit's shit. Believe me, I'm his friend and I know it ain't easy.

"Where is everyone?" I shout over the noise. The small apartment's packed but I know Soda's loving it. He always loves a good party.

"Over there." Two-Bit points to a group huddled by the window, smoking. "We've been waiting for you."

OoO

I count the beer cans piled on the windowsill. Darry and Liz are dressed as a cowboy and cowgirl, Soda as a racecar driver. I stick a pencil above my ear and tell people I'm Ernest Hemingway.

"I don't even know half these people," Steve gripes. Across the room, Evie's sloshing wine on the couch as she chats up a random group.

"Aw, it's all in good fun, Stevie," Soda says. "Loosen up."

"Where's your girl, Soda?" Steve asks, giving my brother a look. Darry and I catch eyes at the challenge in Steve's voice.

"She's busy," Soda says evenly, cracking a beer. "Couldn't make it."

"That's a shame," Liz says. "But I'm sure we'll meet her some other time."

"Sure we will," Two-Bit drawls. "Besides, she can't be worse than that one there…"

Laughing, Kathy hits his hand aside as he makes to point at Evie. Steve scowls but doesn't say anything. He can't argue.

Kathy peers down from the window at the street. "Aren't they cute? All the little kids dressed up?"

"I spy two ghosts and a robot," Two-Bit says. He looks at her. "Don't get any ideas, baby."

She slaps him again. "I won't…I'm just saying…one day." She and Liz share a smile, milling around the window to talk about the wedding in low voices. We all single off, guys and girls. It's weird and I feel it. The way times have changed, life coming together.

Steve rolls his eyes. "What about you, Dar?"

"Yeah, Dar," Two-Bit ribs, "Putting the cart before the horse anytime soon?"

Darry's cheeks are red from the alcohol. He chuckles good-naturedly. "Are you kidding me? I barely got these two out of the house…" He wraps an arm around Soda's neck. Soda laughs. "I ain't having kids for a long, long time."

We all start laughing, big, braying guy-laughs. But when I see Liz's face – angry, hurt – I stop. I swallow the rest of my beer and my side goes numb.

OoO

The next morning, I pop the cap and dry swallow five aspirin. That last drink really took me for a ride. I wonder how Darry's feeling. I smile at my reflection in the mirror. He had been in rare, but fun, form last night. I dip to wash my face, cool water running through my fingers.

When I rise, Darry's in the doorway. "How're you feeling?" I mutter as I dry my face on a hand towel. I frown. "Darry?"

His face is gray. "How'd you know?"

"Know?"

"It's all over the news, Ponyboy."

I give a start; I had forgotten all about it. I push past my brother, asking, "It really happened?"

I stand in front of the TV, covering my mouth with my hand. Donald Kelley's photo flashes across the screen. The news pans to show the cops dragging the body from the Barrens. I glance over my shoulder. Darry stands in the hallway, watching me, looking sick.

OoO

Emotions war as the seriousness of the situation sets in. The guilt that we could have possibly prevented it instead of dangling the information in front of the cops. Now another kid is dead. Allen and Bradley are still missing.

I still don't believe it. Hell, maybe he's working with whoever this sicko is. But the cops want to deal. So I go back to the Penitentiary.

OoO

"Ah, now who believes? Come crawling back for more?"

Tired, I pace the room. "They said they'll deal. If you give us something."

"'Dat's more like it."

I sit on the edge of the chair. "How about a profile…?"

"I want something from you first, My Boy."

"What's that?"

"Just a chat." When I say nothing, Willy squeezes his fist together, the K-I-L-L rolling across his knuckles. "How'd it feel when your parents died? I imagine you were a crier."

I swallow. Hard. "I was 13. Is that what you want?"

"Do you think dey tried to swerve? Maybe miss da ice? If they hadn't hit dat tree, _just so_, maybe dey'd be here now and you wouldn't be limping along like you are. Your mother was driving, did you know that?"

"What is this?" Electricity crackles in the air. Anger flares throughout my body. "_What the hell_?"

"I'm just trying to—"

"I'm not listening to this. I don't know how you're doing it, but you're nothing but a fraud. They cops would be crazy to make a deal with you."

"Dey're gonna keep dying," Willy says. He sings, "If you leave, they'll keep dying. You want that on your conscience, My Boy?"

I take a breath. "Don't talk about my parents."

Pondering this, Willy runs his tongue across his yellow teeth. Smacks his mouth. He goes into his twitch. "White male…in his 40s…he moves across town…sits high in the sky…he just picks and chooses the boys…who he sees…who he likes…who…who…WHO!" He slams the table and I lean back. A guard bursts into the room. Willy's eyes open.

"Got it?"

"Got it."

OoO

"I have two things for you. One is cake. And the other is cake."

"Boy howdy, you're making my day, Two-Bit."

He drops two white pastry boxes on my desk. Looks around my office. "So this is where the big time happens?"

I've just finished writing up my notes for the cops and the story for the paper. I gave them both to Max who told me to promptly fuck off. He's in a bad mood, something about the cops possibly changing their minds. I didn't ask any more questions; I don't want to know.

"You ain't really buying this psychic business, are you kid?" Two-Bit asks as I stuff papers in my bag. I hesitate. "Pone?" Two-Bit prods.

"I ain't really sure. He knew about…about my parents. Said something today."

"What?"

"Stuff that wasn't in the paper."

I light a cigarette, ignoring Two-Bit's grimace. I've tried to keep the smoking pretty much nonexistent around my brothers; around my friends is a different story.

I take a long drag and say, "Said mom was driving. And he was right about that."

"That ain't psychic. That's research, kid."

"Sounds like someone's been talking to Darry."

Darry wouldn't believe it if it walked up to him and announced it to his face. He still thinks Donald Kelley was a fluke. And while I'm still not sure what to think myself, it's more than that.

"What can I say? Darry's a talker." I snort and Two-Bit pushes the cake my way. "Taste, kid. Kathy'll kill me if I don't make a decision."

I stamp the cigarette in an ashtray.

"Lemon or Chocolate?" he asks as I take bites of both.

I tell him chocolate even though they both taste the same to me.

OoO

Steve calls the next day at work. His voice is hurried. "Kid, you gotta get down to the site."

"What's wrong?"

"There's been a fire."

"Darry—"

"He's okay, Soda and I are headed down now and—"

"I'll be right there."

I hang up, my stomach in knots.

OoO

The steady stream of smoke on the horizon comes from Darry's site. I whip the Ranchero up on the curb, ignoring the groaning of metal and clamber out. Steve and Soda are already there. Soda has his hand above his eyes, shielding them from the brightness of the fire.

It's a small fire that's nearly out but already I see the damage. The back end of the trailer is crisp and black. Darry's temporary CONSTRUCTION sign is destroyed, the letters charred beyond recognition.

I slide to a stop, beside Sodapop who's breathing hard. "Did someone call the cops?"

"They're on their way." Steve's voice is flinty.

Soda gives me a worried look, drawing himself up as Darry comes stomping up around the side of the trailer. Face red, eyes steely, Darry barks an order at one of the electricians milling around the scene before heading our way.

"How bad is it, Dar?" Soda asks.

"The lower half of the trailer got shot to shit but luckily we managed to save it. It's not too bad. Walter's checking out the breaker, says it was wired incorrectly when it was first installed." Darry hooks a thumb back to point at the electrician speaking into a crackling walkie-talkie.

Darry sighs. "So now we gotta redo it and put it all back in again. Sets us back about a goddamned month."

"You gonna be okay?" Steve asks. "With the insurance and all that?"

"Yeah," Darry says slowly. "We'll be fine. Aside from the sign and the trailer, we're in pretty good shape." He laughs bitterly. "Considering."

The buzz continues in my head like a warning siren. _Damn it_. This is what I've been afraid of ever since I came back. If this is because of me – because of Miami—

Darry stops talking. "Pony?"

I think of Vinny Trafficante. "This is my fault."

"No it ain't." He frowns. Looks at me funny. "Didn't you hear me? They said it was electrical. Faulty wiring, that's all it was. That's it."

OoO

"How is he?"

"He's okay. He's upset but we'll get through it." Liz shrugs, twirling the ends of her hair. "We always do."

Darry's been in the garage for the last two hours, tinkering around with tools, taking out his frustrations. I've steered clear, not sure if he wants a pep talk.

"Let me know if I can do anything."

She gives me a kind smile. "I like having you here, Pony. You're good for him."

"I don't know about that."

She shuts the stove off. Begins dishing soup into two bowls. She gives me one and sits at the table. "You are. He talks about you all the time, how proud he is about you. He doesn't say it a lot but he should."

I take a bite of soup, set my spoon down. "Listen, I'm sorry about what Darry said at the party, I know it's probably not what you wanted to hear."

I don't know why I'm apologizing for my brother; in fact, I agree with him. Darry needs his own life for a while, not more kids, but the look on Liz's face that night still lingers and I have to say something.

"You gotta stop worrying about everyone," Liz says. She shrugs. "It wasn't what he said really…it was how he said it. It's not a big deal, Ponyboy." She pats my hand, signaling the conversation is over.

OoO

I'm cleaning out my room, rummaging through boxes of old junk, trying to find a better pair of running shoes, when I get an idea. Just a little something to get Willy Wiese out of my head.

OoO

"Here." I toss a hat in front of Willy Wiese. It lands with a soft _plop_. "They found this at Donald Kelley's crime scene."

He picks it up, turning it back and forth in his hands. I wait for it. Willy shuts his eyes and begins rocking. "I feel the boy…he's someplace dark…scared and alone…he'll kill him soon…like the others but not yet…"

Wiese goes on mumbling for a few more minutes until he stops and gives me a tired grin. I grin myself. "That's pretty good," I tell him. "Except that's my old baseball cap."

The smile fades from Willy's face, his eyes flash. "Dat wasn't a very nice thing to do."

"Nice or not," I say. "It worked."

OoO

Proving Willy Wiese a fraud felt better than expected. Max had been irritated but grudgingly admitted he probably was. He backs off the piece. Nick told Max he should have gone into trash mags if he liked dirty stories.

As for the other things…the stuff about my parents, the song, Donald Kelley…I'm chalking that up to luck. To some odd hunch a murdering asshole had once in his life.

OoO

The smell of beef stew floats through the house. Soda opens the door for Two-Bit and Kathy, they murmur apologies for being late. Steve flips them a wave from the living room. I pass by, hearing Darry telling Steve about the mess down at the site. It _was_ faulty wiring, so thankfully the costs were covered by the insurance company. Thankfully.

I bump into Two-Bit. "How's your mom?" I ask him.

"She's alright. One of her bad spells." He gives me a grin. "It's okay, kid. Karen's at home with her." He raises a brow, glancing down at my side. "What? No stick?"

"Gave it up for the day."

"Oh, ho, big shot, huh?"

"You still move around like an old man," Steve says, moseying into the living room. I laugh, ready to let loose with some comeback when there's a loud scream from outside.

OoO

Darry's the first to reach Kathy, who's standing on the porch pointing at something. "Look," she says. I follow her finger. Next to the sidewalk, underneath our hedges is a white object. It looks like a foot.

"No," Darry says, sticking an arm in front of me as I make a move. Two-Bit gently pushes Kathy aside. I grip the porch railing, my eyes narrowing. Tenseness lingers in the air until Steve and Soda bound down the porch steps and over to the object. Darry shouts at them not to touch anything. Soda squats, reaches—

"Damn it, Soda," Darry snaps. He makes another grab for me as I decide to join them. "Jesus, Pony…"

Reaching them, I let out a breath as Soda says, "It's just a prop," and pulls out a rubbery leg. He wobbles it in the air. "Just a toy, Kath." Soda flashes a smile but it's strained.

"Damn kids," Two-Bit swears. "See, Kathy? Probably just leftovers from Halloween." She nods, brushes her ash-colored hair away from her face. Liz and Two-Bit take her inside, leaving Darry on the porch.

Steve hooks a thumb back at the leg. "You want this, Ponyboy? Maybe add it to your collection of body parts or something?"

Voice coarse, Darry points at Steve. "Don't start with him." He scrubs a hand down the length of his face. Trying to control the situation Darry says to Sodapop, "I want that thing in the trash and I want the three of you inside now. You got that? Stop screwing around."

Steve gives me a guilty look, like we've both been sent to time out.

OoO

_Pardon typos. _

_Read and review if you would be so kind. _

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	9. A Soul

_Disclaimers: Swearing. SE Hinton owns. Cliffhanger._

A Soul

OoO

The first to get home from work gets the honor of unlocking the front door. I pull my keys from my pocket, picking the right one. I stick it in the lock.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, hi, Mrs. Williams."

The elderly neighbor is making her way up the steps, moving surprisingly smoothly for her age. "I thought you were back in town." She cackles. I give her a smile; over the summers Soda and I've taken turns mowing her lawn.

"Yes, ma'am. Been back nearly three months now."

"Well ain't that a blessing. Now lookie here, while you were out this morning, some man came around looking for you. Said he had something for you."

"He did, huh?" I hold onto the doorknob, hoping my knees don't give out.

"It wasn't one of those boys you hang around with. I know their faces well enough by now." Cackling again, she holds up a hand. "I don't mean to be a nosy-parker but I told him I'd take the message." She gives me a business card.

_Wentworth Electric. _I wonder who Vinny has tailing me.

"Thanks, Mrs. Williams. I appreciate it. Honest. Thank you."

She says goodbye. I enter the house and lock the door. I brace myself back against it and slide down. I hit the floor.

OoO

Twenty minutes later, the phone rings in the dark house. It keeps ringing. Finally I manage to drag myself up to answer it.

"They found something. Get your ass down there. I got you clearance."

I sigh.

OoO

It's at Lake Elmo again. The police cars light up the night. I flash my press badge and get through the yellow tape.

"What'd you find?" I ask a cop who looks younger than I do. Rookies are always better to pick out at the scene. They talk more. A trick I learned from Max.

"Two hands," he says, green around the gills. "Just hands."

"Same body?"

"No," he says."Different." He glances over his shoulder to see who's watching. Lowers his voice. "Medics are saying they could still be alive. Judging by the flow of the blood or something…Christ, it's some sick shit."

He talks some more about the decomposition of the bodies, who the cops think the hands belong to. I flash a smile. "What's your name? I'll need it for the article."

"Collins. Joshua C. Collins," he says, beaming at the mention of being in print. They always do.

OoO

_More Body Parts Found_

_By P.M. Curtis_

_For the second time in the last two weeks, more body parts have been discovered at Lake Elmo. Authorities report that some of the recovered remains were not identical. "It's possible they're from two different persons," Tulsa Police Officer Joshua Collins explained. "They don't match." Believed to be from Allen Rogers and Bradley Miles, a fingerprint analysis is being done within the week…_

_The lake has been closed in order to thoroughly check the area for more evidence. Once the lake has been dragged and examined, it will reopen to the public…_

OoO

Max calls me into his office to scream at me. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, holding my printed article, and knowing the entire office is watching the explosion through the windows.

"Admit it Curtis, you fucked up! You blew this story off, ignored the psychic, taunted him with that fake hat or whatever you waved in his face and now we got two more limbs. More bodies equal more dead kids, you got that?"

"Yeah, the equation seems pretty simple."

"Smart ass." Max cocks a brow. "Are you still working for me or not? That limp keeping you down? Knocking you out of this race?"

I raise my eyes to the ceiling and count to ten. "No, Max. I'm fine."

"Crazy, psychic or not, believe it or not, this Wiese guy knows _something_. So go back there and get the scoop." Smirking, he sinks into his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. "Don't make me regret giving you this story. Although I'm sure your big brother would be mighty happy to see you go back to school and play nice with the teachers."

"Max," I snap, fed up with his bullshit. "You can go fuck yourself."

He claps his hands together and barks out a laugh. "That's my kid."

OoO

"Bad day?" Soda asks when I stomp through the house.

I open the fridge and grab a beer. "I keep getting my ass chewed out," I mutter. "What're you doing here?"

"You keep asking me that every time I'm over," he laughs. "I still live here, Ponyboy."

"I know you do, sorry." I lean against the counter. "You read today's paper?"

Grim, Soda nods. "We really do have some sick fuck running around town chopping hands off?"

I point at him. "_You_ should have been the writer."

OoO

"You want to know how I killed my parents?"

"I heard it was an axe."

"Dat's true. It don't take much to split a skull." Willy makes a chopping motion with his hand. "Split like an egg, right down the center."

I swallow something slick down in the back of my throat. "Will you help me?"

"You still don't believe, My Boy."

"I don't. But I'm here ain't I?"

"'Dat business with da hat, I may have got my signals crossed." Maliciously, he grins. "Maybe it was meant for you. After all, it was your little trick."

Momentarily, I draw back. "What're you talking about?"

"Nothing," Willy says, the grin still on his face. "At least not yet."

Unwilling to let Willy Wiese get to me again, I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I say, "I'll do what it takes if you help me – I don't want anyone else to die." I pull out a smoke, offer one and light it for him.

He breathes in the nicotine, his eyes practically rolling back. "Oh, but you have. Your friends…the past ones." I look away as he continues.

"They went down, down, down to the ground and here you sit. All by yourself. Just My Boy."

"I'm not your boy." I stamp my smoke down on the table.

"But you're someone's boy. Someone who can't be lost."

Willy closes his eyes and I'm hit with a sense of unease. He seizes, bouncing around in his chair until he quiets. His eyes are clear when he opens them. "My Boy, don't wear shoes."

"What?"

"Write the left way. Don't wear shoes. Save your soul."

Then Willy begins to scream. I cover my ears.

OoO

"Hey Dar…" I swing open the door of the newly furbished trailer. I wave the paper sack. "Liz sent me over with your lunch. Said it's tuna salad and…"

The words die on my lips. Darry's behind his desk, reading a manila file. _Shit._

"This is your story?" he says. "_This_?"

"Darry," I say, exasperated. "You really got to stop doin' your own research."

And I really need to stop leaving my notes around where people can find them.

"That's where you've been goin? Driving up to McAlester every week?"

I die a little bit inside at being caught. I didn't exactly tell my brothers Willy Wiese was on death row at a maximum security prison.

"He murdered his family," Darry booms. "Killed them in cold blood and you're in there talking to him?"

"It's just for a story, Dar."

Darry raises a brow. His voice is dangerous. "That's all you're thinking about? A story?" The wise thing to do is say nothing, so I don't. "He's a crazy man, Ponyboy," Darry says. "Why you'd want to get involved with him is beyond me."

"So don't worry about it."

"Don't you dare tell me what to worry about. You promised—after Miami that you'd be careful. And you're not doing it. _You're not goddamn doing it_."

He slaps the file on his desk. I sag against the back of one his Darry's bookshelves. There's a photo of him and Liz in a frame, one of our parents, and the last one a photo of the three of us.

"I don't believe him, Dar. He ain't dangerous. If he can give us some leads then I figure—"

"Get out of here, Ponyboy," Darry says tiredly, not wanting to hear it. "Get out of here and go home."

OoO

I go for a run and my body wants to fight it. Stiff joints, sore back, the limp isn't any better, but it's still a good source to vent my frustrations. Finally, when I'm done, I sit on the curb and light a cigarette. The smoke curls up into the autumn air, drifting to the clouds.

I wonder how I got myself into this mess and realize I need to go back about six years. I finish my smoke. I miss my friends.

OoO

"The Butcher?"

"Jesus, man."

"The Hacker?"

"Ugh, that's horrible."

"What about the Tulsa Terror?"

"That sounds like a comic book character," I mutter.

Nick rolls his eyes. "Why are we doing this again?" He tosses a freshly sharpened pencil up into the air duct. It hits with a ping and disappears. There's got to be 20 up there by now.

"We need a name," Max says. "Make our stamp. Coin it first."

"This is morbid as shit, man," Nick says.

Max looks my way for approval and I hold up my hands. "Leave me out of this. I'm not naming anything. Nick's right – this is wrong."

"You two saints have fun with your consciences." Max flips us a wave as he heads out of the office. "I'm going with the Tulsa Terror."

"Why do we work for him again?" Nick asks.

OoO

Liz breezes out of the bedroom, dressed up and perfumed. "Have fun tonight," Darry says, giving her a kiss and a wink.

"Where's she going?" I ask when she leaves.

"Kathy's bachelorette party."

"Aw, shit." I smear a hand across my face at the reminder. I haven't even thought about Two-Bit's bachelor party. I'm an asshole.

"You got time, Ponyboy," Darry says, before going into the living room to watch TV. I should consider myself lucky; that's the most Darry's said to me all week.

OoO

"Yeah, sure," Steve says. "I better help you out, or else poor Two-Bit'll end up at the library on his last night of freedom."

I chuckle and thank him. "You got any ideas?"

"A few." A wolfish smile grows on his face. "We'll do it after Thanksgiving. Before Christmas."

"I never figured you for a party planner, Steve."

"It ain't hard. You just do what the guy likes. Bowling, maybe…"

"Beer…"

He points at me. "Now you got the idea." Steve removes the engine from the inside of a Chevy and places it on the counter. He wipes oil off on the pants of his coveralls.

"Soda says you got a new story? Interviewing some…" He swirls his index finger next to his temple.

"Yeah, that's about right."

"It's all bullshit, Ponyboy. Ain't no one can do that."

"Yeah, I know."

Steve sits on a work bench. "You ain't buying it are you?"

"No way. It's just a story. C'mon, give me some credit, Steve."

"Yeah, well, remember that. You've always been naïve, kid. But you're not gullible."

I roll my eyes at the offhand compliment. "Gee, thanks."

OoO

The house is mine for a few short hours. I get home, unpack the groceries and hope to have enough time to finish a story for the paper. I'll admit it, I'm tired. I'm really looking forward to Thanksgiving and some time off.

It's quiet and dark and I flip on the kitchen light and settle at the table. Outside the air's turning chilly. In a month or so, snow will be here. The holidays are always hard – because of our parents – but we've made them into something good.

I reach for the notepad and end up knocking the pencil off the table. I dip and grab it back up with my left hand.

The wisest mistake I've ever made in my life.

I'm still holding it like that, in my left hand, still pondering the next thing to write when the door opens and they walk in. The buzz begins jackhammering in my head.

OoO

_I warned you._

_Pardon typos. Please read and review. _

_XO_

_Feisty_


	10. A Break

_Didn't want to keep you waiting any longer. _

_Cursing, violence and just general crazy in this chapter._

_Enjoy._

A Break

OoO

There are two and I instantly recognize them. They're in black, hair slicked back in a thick wave. I don't see Tony. A freight train runs through my skull: Miami and Tulsa finally sideswiping each other.

The fat one moves toward me. I stay seated.

"Hey Mikey."

"Hey Big Sal."

"You lookin' good."

The other guy, Carmine grins. The smile's honest. He's happy to see me. That's the thing about these guys; they're always happy to see you until they're not.

"Look who's back from the dead. It took us some time," Carmine says. "But we found youse."

I don't say a word.

"Youse ain't gotta be nervous, Mikey. We ain't here for Vinny. He don't even knows about youse. Just the three of us does. We're here for Rosie. So relax. Just relax."

"Yeah," Big Sal says. "We're working for Rosie tonight."

"Rosie may like you, love you even…" Carmine says, taking a stroll around the kitchen. He opens the fridge, checks its contents. Runs a hand over the counter like he's checking for dust. I watch him from the corner of my eye. "But she don't trust you. She wants to know you can keep your mouth shut."

"I will. I have."

"Words is words. We had to come and see fer ourselves. See this nice town you live in. See this house." Carmine stands next to me and squeezes my shoulder. "You like to write, Mikey?"

I think of the ten pages of notes about Miami stuffed under my mattress. "Maybe." It comes out a whisper.

Big Sal sits next to me at the table. He looks like a giant in the small chair. He dwarfs Darry. "We miss you, Mikey. Vinny misses you. He loved you like a son, was sorry to see you go. He didn't even know about the hit and believe you me, Tony's been dealt with."

The tone's familiar and unsettling. Carmine pulls a gun from out of his waistband, raises it high, then rests it on the table. I stiffen.

"Take off your boots, Mikey. Give 'em to Sally."

Big Sal nods. I slip my boots off. The hit the floor with a clatter. Picking them up, Big Sal stands. "Now except for a few things you done in Miami, Mikey, we don't take you for a liar."

The chair skids out from under me as Big Sal kicks its legs away. The pencil falls from my left hand, the chair clattering backwards until it smacks the fridge. I hit my knees; the edge of the table comes up to my chest. Carmine leans over, grabs my left arm and stretches it across the table.

Squirming, I say, "Wait, wait, wait..."

My eyes drift to the door. I'm not worried about dying, as dumb as it sounds, that's the last thing on my mind. All I can think about is the wrong person coming home. Darry. Soda. Liz. One of them walking through that front door and getting a bullet in the brain. I'd never forgive myself.

"Please. Not here. Listen I'll go with you, I'll go anywhere, just not here…" I try to tug back but they hold me tight.

"We promised Rosie we wouldn't hurt you too bad," Carmine says. Big Sal raises my boot. Willy Wiese's words run through my mind. _Don't wear shoes. Save your sole…_

"We just want to remind you that we'll be watching for a little while. We want to remind you what talking can get you."

"No, no, I told you—_oh FUCK_!"

I slump, trying not to faint as heel of the boot slams down on top of my hand. My entire body convulses, spots dancing in my vision. I grip the table with my right arm, holding myself up. "_Shit, Jesus Christ_..." Beads of sweat stream down my face. I rest it against the coolness of the table.

"You lying to me kid?" Carmine asks as Big Sal brings the boot down again. Bones pop. I scream out loud. "Huh? Are you? Did you tell anyone 'bout our family? If you're lying I'll kill you. Finish what Tony started…"

"_No! No!_ I swear to god – I didn't say shit. I didn't—I wouldn't..." I bury my face into the table, tears leaking from my eyes and scream into my arm.

"It would hurt me, Mikey, know that…you were like family. I'd hate to see you die a second time."

I brace for another hit but instead Carmine brings the boot down once more only to slam the table instead. The gun and the pencil ricochet with the hit. The only sound in the kitchen is soft weeping. Carmine lets my arm go but it stays in that broken, stretched position. He sits in the opposite chair.

"C'mon, get up. Help him up, Sally."

Big Sal grips me underneath the armpits, smoothly moves a chair to my side of the table and sets me in it. I give a moan as my arm moves.

"I'm sorry, Mikey," Big Sal says. "You understand."

I look up. Carmine sticks a cigarette in my mouth and lights it. Then he slaps the side of my face gently. "Rosie cares about you Mikey."

"She sure has a funny way of showing it," I choke out.

Carmine leans close. "You better not open that mouth. I'd hate to bring Vinny your tongue. Consider this a warning. We'll be watching."

They leave as quickly as they came. I lower my eyes and wipe them. The soles of my boots stare up at me from the linoleum floor.

OoO

I calm down. I take a shot of some awful tasting vodka, ice my hand and then call Nick.

OoO

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Nick says when I climb in his truck. "Jesus Christ."

I close my eyes, breathing low and even so I don't pass out. I rest my hand in my lap. "Hospital, Nick."

"Curtis…who…" The question dies on his lips.

"Who do you think? Fucking Carmine and Big Sal were in my house tonight." I choke on a cough. Maybe it's a sob, I can't tell. "They were in my house, man."

My house – where my brothers could have been. Where my parents lived. I keep screwing up, and eventually, it's going to hurt someone I love. I gotta get the hell out of there.

"He was right."

"Who was right?"

"Wiese. He warned me."

Nicks calls me an idiot and shoves a smoke into my good hand.

OoO

"How is it?" Nick asks, entering.

"The whole thing ain't broken at least."

"Christ. I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry." Nick plops into a chair, his eyes sunken.

My left hand is wrapped in gauze and a splint. The pinkie and ring finger broken. The break isn't as bad as it feels. This pain is worse than the pain in my side. It's delicate and pointed, the nerves tingling. I smoke my smoke, inhaling until my throat burns. I stare at the window, see gray sky. I haven't felt this kind of despair since Johnny and Dally died. It keeps stacking up; I can't run, I nearly can't write.

I took the pain pills. Getting hooked on those seems like a far and distant worry; I have bigger things these days. I'm stronger too.

Resting my head back against the pillow, I think back to what I told Steve and wonder if I was right. I won't make it past Christmas. "They're not gone, you know," I tell Nick. "They're sticking around town. I gotta move out. I gotta get my own place."

"You can stay with me…"

"No."

"Curtis, you're talking crazy, man."

"Rosie sent them here, Nick. I don't want them looking for you either. I don't think they know you're here, but I can't be sure…" I murmur, almost talking to myself. I sit up in bed. "Let's call Max and tell him about Wiese."

Nick gawks. "Ponyboy, you can't be thinking…"

"I don't know what to think anymore. I just know I gotta talk to him again, he warned me, I got to—"

"Jesus, will you calm down? Settle and—god damn it."

I'm already climbing out of bed. "Hand me my pants, will ya?"

He rubs his hands on his jeans. "We can't leave."

"Why the hell not?"

"I already called your brothers."

"Aw, god damn it, Nick."

OoO

"We're not doing this here, Ponyboy," Darry says wearily. "You can fight with me all you want to at home, because that's where you're going. No arguments."

Nick glances up from his spot in the corner. He shakes his head ever so slightly, telling me arguing is pointless.

"But Darry…"

"You ain't gonna win this one Ponyboy so don't even try." Soda fiddles with the jar of cotton swabs only to knock the lid off, spilling the entire thing. He swears and starts scraping them back into the jar with shaky hands.

"I can't stay at the house," I say and Darry sucks in a draining breath. "It's my fault, all of it. I don't want anything to happen to you guys."

"Something happened to _you_, kiddo," Darry says, his voice slow and soft like he's trying to make me focus on something I won't.

"I have to get away...if they come back…"

"They won't," Darry says.

"We won't let them." Soda moves to sit in the chair near the bed. His eyes are bloodshot. He rests a hand on my arm. "Nobody's gonna touch you."

It's not me I'm worried about. Darry's business. Soda. Liz. They're not gone, I think. Not by a long shot. We're not tough enough. We're just greasers. We ain't the mob, I think, and wonder how I can win this.

"But—"

"Ponyboy," Nick says quietly, "Just shut up and listen to them." He stands and makes for the door.

"Nick," Darry says, turning to face my friend. "Be careful."

Guiltily, Nick swallows and nods. He shuts the door, saying a soft goodbye.

OoO

Soda sits me at the kitchen table, the same kitchen table where not more than three hours ago Carmine Trafficante was bashing my hand with my own boot. I can't believe it's only nine o'clock. In the living room, Darry and Liz are talking in low tones and I wonder if he's told her yet what's really going on. I hope to hell not.

Soda runs the tap and sets down a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. "The pills helping any?"

"As much as they can." I cover my face with my free hand, the other cradled in my lap. A dull throb runs through it, a pain I'm used to by now.

A chair scrapes back, Soda sitting down. "Pony." He rests a hand on my back.

"Willy was right." My voice comes out muffled against my hand. "He knew…he told me…"

"No, he wasn't," Soda soothes, rubbing my back in slow circles. "You're in shock, kiddo. That's all it is. You just need some sleep. You need to—"

The front door slams. I raise my head, seeing Two-Bit barreling into the kitchen. He reeks of beer and cigarettes, some sort of crazed expression on his face. "He okay? You okay, kid?"

"He's okay," Soda says in a low tone.

"Jesus, Two-Bit," Darry says, coming in after him. My oldest brother looks annoyed; loud, sudden noises probably aren't the best idea right now. "You run here from the bar?"

"No, I—" He clears his throat, stands up straight, getting a hold of himself. "Kathy was working a double and called me from St. Joe's. Saw the kid's name on the board."

Two-Bit drops into a chair next to me. His voice goes low. "Pony, how are ya?"

"I'm okay," I say. His eyes shoot open when I rest my bandaged hand on the table. "My hand's broke."

"You broke it or someone else broke it?"

"I broke it."

"Bullshit."

"Leave it alone, Two-Bit," Darry says, stepping in. He and Soda meet eyes, sharing a silent conversation.

Two-Bit sees it too; hurt and anger flickering across his face. He points at Darry. "Whatever this is," he says, "it ain't cool, guys." This is confusing him, I can see it. No one will talk to him, his best friends keeping their traps shut.

Finally, relenting a bit, Darry says, in a much kinder tone, "It's for your own good, Two-Bit. Just trust me."

"You know, Darry," Two-Bit says, resting a hand on my shoulder. "When you and the kid start saying the same thing that's when I know something's really wrong."

OoO

I've been sitting on the edge of my bed for the last fifteen minutes, staring off into space, wishing I could just go numb, when the door closes and Soda steps in, a bag slung over his shoulder.

"What're you doin?"

"I'm stayin' here for a while."

"Soda, you don't have to do that."

With a sigh, he sits down, kicking his shoes off. They hit the wall, making soft thumping noises. "I'm not leaving you, Ponyboy. Those guys—that came here—they could've…" Soda breaks off, his face grey and angry.

"It could have been worse," I say.

"Pony."

"I'm okay."

"Don't." Soda shakes his head. "Don't say you're okay. Because you're not."

I close my eyes. Soda squats next to me, his hand on my knee. "I'm here," is all he has to say before I let go.

OoO

The next morning I catch low voices in the living room. I drag a hand across my face, realizing last night wasn't a bad dream and is instead eerily real. Before I go join my brothers I find the ten pages I wrote about Miami, rip it up and flush it down the toilet. No more mistakes.

Darry's voice is soft and low. "I don't want anyone to know, Soda. Just us. We keep it like before."

"I know, Dar."

"If they come—"

"If they come back," Soda snaps, "I'll kill 'em."

There's no answer from Darry; he's probably thinking the same thing. I stifle a groan, the last thing I need are my brothers getting hauled in for murder. It'd be funny if it weren't so serious. If it weren't so real.

Darry swivels his chair when I enter. "You sleep okay?"

I give him a nod. He's the one who looks tired; dark circles and red-rimmed eyes. "Pony," he says as I go sit beside Soda on the couch. "I want you to stay close to us. Tell us where you are. Call us if you're gonna be late." Darry sighs. "I know it ain't the best situation but it will make me feel a hell of a lot better."

"I'm sorry," I say. "For all of this."

Darry sighs again. "There's a shotgun in my bedroom, Ponyboy. I don't want to use it, but I will."

OoO

Max gives me a pep talk. "You can do it. Don't let this get you down, Curtis."

"I'm not _down_, Max. I'm pissed. I'm a walking target." I slam the lid down on my typewriter. "I can't even write, man."

"Since when has that ever stopped you before? You used a fucking Crayola in Cherry Hills," Max says. "Besides, don't worry about that. All you gotta do is watch your back. Watch your back and go talk to that psychic."

"One of those is a lot easier than the other."

Max flaps a hand. "You got something, Curtis. So get out there and find it. Don't make me tell you again."

OoO

"So you got me." I hold up my busted, wrapped hand. The painkillers have numbed it and I feel good. I can forget for a little bit at least. The chat with Max giving me some hope, something to do while I worry.

Willy Wiese almost looks disappointed. "You didn't listen."

"How'd you do it? How'd you know?"

"You believe now, My Boy?"

"Maybe," I say, meaning it. "Maybe. It ain't an easy thing but…" I run a hand through my hair. "Hell, I think I do."

Considering this he touches my bandage, his shackles clanging. He looks pleased when I don't draw away. "I like your honesty. It's a sweet thang in dis day and age."

"I'll be honest as much as I can." Eager, I sit at the table, stomach churning in enthusiasm. This story could really be _something_. "Help me. Help me find him, stop this and I'll help you."

If Willy Wiese is right again I have no idea how I'll deny it. This shouldn't be happening; but it is. There's a killer in Tulsa and a murderer sitting across from me who claims he's a psychic.

"Tell me," he says, his accent twangy. "Did you think you'd die, My Boy?"

"I thought they'd kill me in my own house."

"And what was dat like?" It's creepy, the way Willy wants to know about pain, as if he feeds on it. And he probably does, but I give it to him anyway. I want what I want and if this is how we have to play it...

"I was scared," I say, finishing, finding I really mean my words; they aren't just an act. "I thought about my brothers and I'd never forgive myself if something had happened to them." I smear my face. "I should've moved out. I _should_ move out."

"Maybe you'll get da chance."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll see." He holds up a finger, going into his trance for nearly two minutes. His eyes roll in his skull and drool snakes from the edges of his mouth. Finally, he says, "There's a flying red horse. You find that, you'll find one of the boys. Just remember to duck."

"That's it? That's all I get?"

"That all _I_ get."

"Okay. Fair enough."

OoO

It haunts me the entire drive back. A flying red horse?

I start coughing until my throat begins to burn. I pull over to the side of the road and spit into my hands. It's red froth, the slickness I've been swallowing down in the back of my throat for the last two weeks. I stare at the grey highway and swear under my breath.

OoO

_Please read and review. It would be much appreciated. Don't yell at me too much._

_Pardon typos._

_XO_

_Feisty_


	11. A Thanks

_Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns. Swearing below. And a little shock. _

A Thanks

OoO

I can't sleep.

I start to drift off into dark places but then the dark merges with the alley and I hear Tony say, "Mikey, I don't want to do this," and I search around for Nick but there's nothing. No one. There's the glint of the blade and slick, slick red.

Soda crawls into bed with me. He's been staying over ever since Big Sal and Carmine stopped by. I can tell he and Darry are worried they'll come back. I don't have the heart to tell them they're probably right.

"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me. His breath is light on my neck.

For once, I sleep.

OoO

"Does it still hurt?" Liz asks, as I settle in the doorway watching her poke at the turkey. The flesh indents and she gives a satisfied nod.

I shrug. "Not too much anymore. Sorry I can't really do too much today."

She gives a smile. "If I know you Ponyboy, that's exactly why you broke your fingers. To get out of dishwashing duty."

I laugh, turning away. Liz stops me by saying, "I feel like you're gonna run, Pony. And Darry won't tell me anything so I'm not going to ask but I need to know _this_. Are you going to run?"

"I could have gotten you or Darry hurt," I begin slowly, feeling her eyes on my back. "If that happened I couldn't handle that…so yeah. I should get out of here." I turn back to look at her.

Liz tucks a piece of dark hair behind her ear and exhales. "You shouldn't go. He needs you."

The doorbell rings and Liz drops the turkey in the pan.

OoO

Two-Bit breaks a vase and all bets for a calm Thanksgiving are off. Kathy and Mrs. Mathews start pouring drinks. Snow falls outside and the wind whips. Nick shows up with a six-pack, looking antsy but calmer than I've seen him in a while. I'm relieved about that. Evie and Steve bring a store-bought pie, Liz looking like she wants to drop it in the trash but she thanks them. Steve eyes my hand but says nothing. Soda bounces around the room, making a phone call every now and then. Darry's calm but watchful.

I survey the room, the chaos of my family the only soothing thing.

OoO

Liz wrinkles her nose, trying to light the stove. She swears when she straightens up. "What is it?" Darry asks.

"I forgot the potatoes." She looks ready to cry. It's stressful – she's cooking for a full house. I hop up from the table.

"I'll go. I'll get 'em."

"Nothing's open," Soda says.

"Sure it is." That's Karen. She juggles Hank on her knee. "The mini-mart on seventh. Remember those people got shot there last Thanksgiving? Brains splattered all over the cooler? Mr. Keller still kept it open. Always does, every year."

People stare at her. Soda looks horrified. And I thought I was bad.

I reach for my keys. Darry's eyes move. "Nick," he says, worried.

Nick stands. "I'll go with him."

OoO

"Is it hard driving with that mitt?" Nick asks.

"Nah," I say. I toss the sack of potatoes in the back seat, careful of my hand. "It'll be off before I know it. It's harder getting out of the house these days."

Nick cracks a laugh.

The wind and snow pick up, gusting across the road. Heading back to the house, I pass seventh street, pass eighth and that's when I see it. The giant Mobile station, the logo a winged red horse, the sign perched high above it like a beacon. I nearly crash the Ranchero into the curb, instead managing to swing it around and park across the street from the abandoned gas station.

"Curtis?" Nick asks, gripping the dash. "You done and gone crazy?"

I stare at the dilapidated building. At the wide-spread wings of the Pegasus. "This is what he meant. The horse."

"Ponyboy…"

"No, Nick. The boy – one of 'em – is in here."

"You can't believe this."

Twisting in my seat, I zip my seatbelt off and climb out of the car. I have to see; if Willy Wiese is right and I pass it up, I'd never forgive myself.

"I'll go look."

"Jesus, don't do this again." Nick's on my heels. "Not a repeat of Miami." He grabs my arm, fear plain in his eyes. "Please."

"Don't worry, man. Five minutes. I'll be back." _Don't forget to duck_, I tell myself. Nick moans as I cross the deserted street and run into the abandoned gas station.

OoO

It's darker than dark inside the old Mobile and I wish I had a flashlight. Chilled, I zip up my jacket. The dusty cement goes _whisk-whisk_ as my feet slowly move across. The urge to cough brews but I clear my throat, chasing it back down. Another thing I don't want to deal with at the moment.

The old Mobile station sits on a corner just off of Main Street. It used to be open ten years ago, until the DX put it out of business. Situated and silent, it's the perfect spot for bad deeds. I move through, brushing away cobwebs and dust. Something scurries along the rafters. Shadows beckon; I squint, my eyes adjusting to the dark.

There are a few candy bar wrappers littered across the floor. Coils of electrical wire and a tattered newspaper. I kick one of the wrappers with the toe of my shoe; it looks recent. I'm careful not to touch anything. I skirt a corner, wondering if the black stains on the ground are blood or paint.

I keep walking until I see a door. It looks like a small janitor's closet. I go up to it, squat and listen. Right when I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing, I suck in a breath when I hear ragged breathing. My heart nearly stops when there's a weak, "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?"

I touch fingers to my lips, not trusting myself to speak.

"Please, hurry…he'll be back soon and—"

I take off, limping along, hurrying, until there's a loud _whoosh_. I don't even glance up – Wiese's words in my mind—_don't forget to duck_—so I do.

A thickly braided chain dives towards me, one used to lug and lift cars. It's so close, the _whoosh_ of air on my cheek, the chain cut and flopping around like a live wire. I land in a pile of trash, coughing and choking on dust. I roll onto my shoulder, wincing as a few light plywood boards land next to me.

Finally, getting my bearings, I make it out of there, but not before I think I spy someone in the shadows. But I can't be sure.

OoO

Nick calls the tip in from a payphone. We wait a few blocks away until the cop cars and ambulance come.

I breathe into my hands when a figure's brought out on a stretcher. "Thank god," I say. "Thank god."

"Oh fuck," Nick says. "He's alive."

I glance at the clock. "Oh shit."

OoO

They're just setting down to eat when we walk in. Nick goes straight to the table. Darry follows me into the kitchen, his expression furious. "You've been gone three hours, Ponyboy! For potatoes? Where the hell have you been?"

I dump the potatoes on the counter. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I think of the boy and hope he makes it.

"It's Thanksgiving," Darry snaps. "I don't understand why you can't be on time for it. I don't understand why you have to keep doing this, why y—"

Liz is suddenly there smiling bright, her apron on. There's flour in her hair. "Hey, no," she says. "We're not doing this now." She lowers her voice, hisses, "They can all hear you so shut up."

Darry gives me a look then turns to his girlfriend. "Then let's eat." He storms out.

"You better have a drink, Ponyboy," Liz warns. She doesn't look happy. "You're gonna need it."

OoO

Dinner's fine and it weren't for Karen Mathews it'd be great.

Darry's cool and calm but deep down he's royally pissed. I don't blame him; I know he's just worried. Liz knows what she's doing though, she gives him a few drinks and eventually he loosens up.

Karen dips her head toward mine. She's on my right. "So you're really working that serial killer case?"

There are so many words wrong in that sentence; I wince at _serial killer_ and _case_. "Uh, yeah," I shift awkwardly. "That's right. It's just for work." I keep my voice low but it's too late, they're watching.

"Two-Bit says you're interviewing someone at the prison. Like you did at that hospital…"

"Yep, that's true." I shoot Two-Bit a look: _I'm gonna kill you_.

"That's such a cool job." The baby grabs for her hair and Karen reshuffles him on her lap. "You ain't gonna check yourself in there are you?"

Soda starts choking on his beer. Two-Bit tosses his fork down. "Jesus Christ, Karen."

Hank starts crying, taking Karen's attention, and I thank god for small favors.

OoO

The house clears out except for the staples – Steve, Two-Bit and their girls. They all sit at the table, continuing the night with coffee and bourbon.

Nick turns on the 10 o'clock news. We wait for it and then the newscaster comes on. They flash photos across the screen and announce that yes, despite missing his hand, Bradley Miles is alive. One of the boys has been found. No further information is available but donations can be sent to…

Nick and I just stare at each other.

"Wiese was—"

"Don't say it," Nick says. "Okay? I get it. Just…don't say it."

I dip low, breathing evenly at the thought of what's just happened. "Oh, holy shit."

"Curtis," Nick says, clasping my shoulder. "You just got yourself one helluva inside scoop."

OoO

_MISSING BOY FOUND_

_P.M. CURTIS_

_An 16-year-old boy who was reported missing was found alive, according to police. _

_The boy, identified as Bradley Miles, was a possible victim of the Butcher, a serial killer thought to be responsible for at least two more abductions in the area. Police received a tip around four in the afternoon on Thanksgiving Day, which eventually lead them to an abandoned Mobile Station where Miles was being held._

_No other leads have been found in the case…_

OoO

Two days later Max calls me at home and barks into the phone, "You gotta get down there and interview him, Curtis!"

"Who?"

"Bradley Miles. You think this story will write itself?"

"Aw, hell, Max…harassing some poor kid in the hospital ain't my forte."

"Yeah, well you better get over it pretty damn quick."

The buzz is back in my brain. "Max—"

"Don't make me tell you twice." He hangs up.

OoO

I drive over to St. Joe's to interview Bradley Miles but it's a no-go. The cops won't let me past security; his family won't even talk to me. I've never felt like such an asshole getting turned away at the door of some kid's hospital room. One of the worst experiences of my life.

The Ranchero dies on the outskirts of town. It putters to a stop on the shoulder of the road. I hitch a ride to the nearest gas station and call the DX. Steve answers.

OoO

"Thanks a lot," I tell Steve as he drives us into town. "I really appreciate it, man."

"I'll send someone up to bring your piece of shit back to the DX. Me and Soda will take a look at it."

"Thanks." I lean back against the seat. His truck is warm and I hold my good hand up to the vent, the air filtering through my fingers.

"What're you doing up at St. Joe's anyway?" he asks.

"Trying to interview that boy – Bradley Miles."

Steve raises a brow and whistles. "Hell, kid. You're more of an asshole than I am."

"Don't remind me."

"You know," Steve says, shooting me a sideways glance. "I read your article the other day. And I think it's mighty odd considering he was found on Thanksgiving near the Seventh Street market…right around the time when you were gone…"

"Was he really?"

"Fuck you, Ponyboy," Steve snaps, taking a right on Fowler Avenue. "You wrote the goddamn story. You know what I'm talking about."

There's a long beat and then I ask, "You didn't tell Darry did you?"

He lets out an exasperated laugh. "No, kid. I didn't. I figure that's the last thing you…" Steve slows on the gas and instantly breaks, jerking us both forward.

He parks us next to the post office and shuts his truck off. "You son-of-a-bitch," he swears. I follow his stony gaze. My heart sinks. It's like a shock of icy water on my face. Soda's coming out of the Holiday Inn with the same girl from the movie house. Only this time it's not just a blonde. It's _the_ blonde. He has his arm around her and they duck into a bar. My mouth drops open. All this time it's been—

"Sandy?" I ask Steve.

His eyes are grim. "News to me too, kid."

I smear my face in my free hand, spots flashing as I squeeze my eyes shut. "Shit…"

"Bristol?" Steve asks.

"What's in Bris—" It dawns and I remember. I raise my face. "Oh yeah. Yeah."

OoO

Bristol. A small honky-tonk town 30 minutes outside of Tulsa and the place where Steve and I first got drunk. About two years ago, right after I had gotten out of Cherry Hills. It had been on accident really. I had been there to interview someone for a story, they never showed but Steve did. He bought me a drink and I had ended up calling Soda for a ride.

And boy howdy, if this isn't the right place for me and Steve Randle to commiserate over Sodapop Curtis.

"I knew it. I knew he was acting weird," Steve says, his voice wobbly. "But I never thought it was this." He gestures at the bartender who brings us each a shot of whiskey. "What the fuck is he doing?" Steve asks. "What the fuck, man?" He downs his shot.

I shoot it down too. Sandy had broken my brother's heart, scared him off dating, off women, and now he's back with her?

"It just don't make sense." I murmur.

"What's she doin' in town anyways? Evie would've told me if she moved back…" He moves black eyes my way. "You didn't know?" When I shake my head, Steve actually reaches out to pat my shoulder. "I thought for sure he would've told you, kid."

I don't – can't – say anything.

"So that's what he's been doing – taking long lunches, sneaking around…it's all been with her. With that dumb bitch."

"He should have told us."

Steve cocks a brow. "Hell, kid, he shouldn't even be _doing_ it." He shakes his head. "You know, Soda gets a lot of passes, a lot of credit, but not about this. Not with her."

I feel sorry for Steve. He picked up so many pieces of Sodapop after Sandy left and I ran away. More than Darry and I ever could. I'll never know how hard it was. He listened to Soda cry and tried to get him back out playing the field. He's my brother's best friend and being kept in the dark has got to sting.

Ready to drown his sorrows, Steve orders a second round. "You in any hurry to get back?"

"I ain't got anywhere to go," I say.

"Between us, Pony," Steve says when the bartender shows up with the liquor. "This stays between us and these shots." I see it plain in his face: he's embarrassed for my brother. And I don't blame him.

OoO

"Oh, this is fan-fucking-tastic," Two-Bit moans. "C'mere," he says, gripping the front of my shirt. He pushes me onto the barstool. "You're both shithoused and it's one in the afternoon."

"Kid's a bad influence," Steve slurs, settling up with the bartender.

Two-Bit affects hurt, saying, "You know, Pony, I would have liked to have been invited. Today's my day off."

"I'm sorry," I say. "You want a drink?" I grab a shot glass and end up dropping it onto the floor. It shatters into a million pieces.

"No, no I don't kid. Remember, I'm your ride? You called me? Jesus Christ, never mind…"

Two-Bit manages to herd us both outside. Steve claims shotgun, I hobble into the backseat, tossing my stick on the floor. Two-Bit glances in the rearview mirror, pulling away from the curb and into Tulsa. "Don't you dare puke in my car."

I hold up my bandaged hand. "You can't see it but I'm giving you the finger."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know you are kid. What're you doing with him?" he asks Steve. "Soda called, said you blew off work. When he finds out you've been off drinking with this one, he's liable—"

"Who cares about what Soda thinks," Steve snaps. "'Sides, Pony can make his own decisions."

I fall across the back seat as Two-Bit takes a turn. "Thanks, man!"

"Anytime, kid," Steve retorts.

"I'm confused and scared by this," Two-Bit says, glancing back and forth between us. "Am I in the Twilight Zone?"

"Not yet," Steve says, raising dark brows.

OoO

Two-Bit pulls up to the house, cutting his engine.

Steve says, "You should come in for a beer."

"Yeah, man." I climb out of the car and fall on the icy grass. "Have a drink."

"Ponyboy," Two-Bit says, and I hear the smile in his voice. "I think you've had enough."

"Enough's never enough," Steve says. He sticks his hands in his pockets, watches me sit on the grass.

Two-Bit helps me stand up. "You got it?"

"Sure I got it. How 'bout you?"

Two-Bit busts into a laugh. "Jesus Christ. Let's go get a beer. Hell, I ain't married yet."

"That'll never stop you, Two-Bit."

He smiles, happy. "No, it won't, kid. No it won't."

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thank you, thank you for the reviews. So happy you're still reading this. Keep it up. Don't kill Soda._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	12. A Bluff

_Long chapter. Cursing and just general trouble and hilarity._

A Bluff

OoO

The next morning's rough. Steve and Two-Bit had gone home about four in the afternoon yesterday and I had promptly went to bed. Day drinking never does anyone any favors.

In the kitchen, I chug water, chase aspirin, and sit at the table. Skull pounding, I think about Sodapop and Sandy and my stomach twists.

"Have fun yesterday?" Darry asks, entering the kitchen. Freshly shaved, he's in jeans and a white t-shirt. He starts making coffee. "Soda called, said Steve left work and never showed back up."

"So. What does it matter?"

Darry frowns. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

I stand and trip over the leg of the chair. Darry grabs my arm, steadying me.

OoO

"We're off their case. Officially. They don't want anything to do with us."

"But—but he called it. He knew it. What's their problem?"

_Their problem_ meaning the Tulsa PD's. Since the explosion of events, someone's decided they don't want anything to do with the Tulsa World. They don't want anything to do with Willy Wiese.

"They're worried about credibility," Max drawls. "Sure, they wanted us when they had nothing, and now that they have the boy, they think he'll talk. Give them some surefire clue and lead them to the Tulsa Terror."

"Hell, Nick called it in," I say. "We found him." Even though it's meant to be a secret, it's still an annoyance. Wiese, Nick and I, we found Bradley Miles, not the fuzz.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Max says. "You gotta tell me things, kid. Keep me in the loop so I can help. Get you out of sticky situations."

"Yeah," I say. "That would have come in handy last week."

"I'm real sorry about your hand. It can't be easy but you're a champ. Or some shit like that." Max ashes his cigar, done with his inspirational speech. He asks, "So with the fuzz out, you know what this means?"

Slowly, I say, "There's no deal."

"Yup. Cops pulled the agreement. Wiese goes back on death row."

I think. Chew the inside of my lip, not ready to give up.

"Max?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"We can still work it can't we? The paper could?"

"We could."

"If Willy Wiese still wants to see me, the cops can't stop him, right?"

"Yup. You're just a visitor. No harm in that."

I smirk. "So let's do it then."

"What makes you so sure he'll talk to you?"

"I ain't sure. But I'll try. Let's get the story and solve the case."

"Kid, I'm beginning to like the way you think."

If I could see Max's eyes from behind the dark sunglasses, I'm sure they'd be twinkling.

OoO

Twenty minutes into it and it's not going well.

"You said you liked that I was honest, so I'll tell you. The cops aren't working with us anymore. There's no deal. But I'm hoping you'll still help us."

"Now why would I do that?" His drawl is long and eerie.

"Because a kid is still missing, he's—"

"He's dead. They'll find him soon."

I wince. Wiese's demeanor is distracted; he's already over it. "But if they guy's still out there, you could at least point us in the right direction."

"I ain't gonna do that, My Boy."

I close my notebook. "Yeah, I figured."

"I need a deal. I need to avoid that chair. I'm not ready to meet my maker."

"Why? Because you were such a saint when you killed your entire family?"

"Careful My Boy, that ain't fair play."

"I'm not here anymore, remember?" I stand, calling his bluff. "Fair's a bunch of bullshit."

The guards let me out. I don't look back.

OoO

"God damn it!"

I sink onto the couch and cover my eyes. Allen Rogers has just been found on top of the Ridge. His body mutilated and shredded. I pinch the bridge of my nose and sit like that for a long time.

OoO

Tulsa's a scary place at the moment. A city-wide curfew's been imposed – anyone under the age of 18 has to be indoors after 10 o'clock. For once I'm on the other side of the curfew, but something in Darry's face tells me he wishes I weren't.

OoO

He's outside in his yard fixing a model airplane. "Hey," I shout over the white fence. "You Bradley Miles? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He shuffles over, embarrassed. His right arm's clean gone below the elbow; the shirt arm tucked and stapled like the Vets on the street corners downtown. "What's it to you?"

"I'm with the _Tulsa World_ but—" I put a hand out. "This is off the record. I swear." And I mean it. Max can go take a flying leap. I'll get the info I need and keep the poor kid out of it.

"Man, leave me alone. You guys are just a bunch of vultures…" He turns to leave.

I try again. "Hey, listen… I ain't doin' too hot myself. I know what it's like to be where you are. And I swear I just want information. I want to find who killed Allen Rogers."

Bradley stops, his shoulders slumping. It's a total dick move when I position the stick just so he sees it, but hell, I'll do what I can for a good cause. He turns, eyes widening.

I say, "I want to find out who did this to you."

Bradley Miles, a thin, scrawny kid with dark hair, walks back over to the fence. His left hand wraps itself around the white picket. He looks trusting, innocent. God, I hope I can help him.

"_You're_ with the newspaper?"

"I am."

"Are you even old enough to work there?"

I laugh. "Yeah, I work there. But I'll only say what you want me to say. Or nothin' at all. Got that?"

"Yeah," he says, opening the gate to let me in. "I got it."

OoO

"It's all a blur. It's like…numbness. Most of the time he wasn't even there. He stayed away…but I could hear him at night. He was like a zoo animal…just prowling around…watching."

Bradley glances up as a bird caws, cutting the silent air. He moves his right arm, like he's trying to grasp for something; I doubt he remembers it's even gone. I nod and Bradley continues, talking slow and pained. Clearing his throat he says, "The stuff he did…the sick stuff…hell I can't even explain it. I don't—I don't even remember him taking my arm. I just blanked."

"Brad, you don't—"

He keeps going. "I didn't really see much when I was there. It was dark and he kept me blindfolded. He tied me up to…a chair, I think. I could hear things…"

"What kind of things?"

"The knife he used. It was big, like outta a comic book. He'd say these weird prayers in the middle of the night. Sometimes I heard a rumbling…I thought it was his car but I can't be sure…"

"Anything else?" I jot all this down on a small notepad.

"It smelled weird. Like something burnt." He shakes his head. "I can't remember too much. It hurts too bad."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay, Curtis." he says, sounding braver than I'm sure he feels. He laughs. "I'll just tell people I was in 'Nam. It ain't so bad." His eyes drift to me. "So what happened to you?"

"Car accident," I lie. I cough and rub my chest, slickness moving in the back of my throat. I grind the cigarette I'm smoking out on the pavement.

"Man, it must've been a bad one."

"You could say that." I flip my notepad shut. "And you told the cops all this?"

"Yeah. Told 'em the exact same stuff." He rolls his eyes. "Who knows what they're doin with it."

Something protective tightens inside. Bradley Miles' dark eyes reminding me of Johnny's; scared, hurt. But there's also a strength the boy has and that's a relief.

"We'll find this guy. We'll find who killed Allen."

"I didn't know him – Allen – you know that? Never met him before in my life. When he was first brought down there…he was just some guy and now…now I'll never forget him." His eyes water and he glances off to the right. "Ain't you with the paper?" he asks in a thick voice.

I shoot him a crooked smile and swallow the lump in my throat. "I'm on your side. No one else's."

And I mean it.

Bradley's left hand shoots out to find my good one. It's clammy, his face young and terrified. "I trust you more than anyone, Curtis. I don't know why, but I just do."

OoO

The Christmas decorations are out and in full force. Soda shows me a gift he wants to buy for Liz and I nod. I wonder what he'll buy for Sandy.

It's awkward with Sodapop now. Now knowing what or how to say it neither Steve nor I have brought it up. Steve spends more nights at Evie's and gives Soda the cold shoulder. Soda doesn't mention it. Who knows, maybe he's glad for it, he doesn't have to explain anything to anyone.

"Hey," Soda says, as we walk down the main drag. "You okay? You've been quiet lately…"

"Ain't I always quiet?"

He grins. "Yeah, well more so than usual, kiddo."

We walk a block in silence, until I say, "Hey Soda?"

"What kid?"

"You buying anything for that girl of yours?"

"I ain't got a girl, Pone." He ruffles my hair. "You know that."

OoO

Even though it's the second week of December I lace up and go for a run. I try. I leave my stick in the car and I move decently. It's not much, a slow gallop, but it's a start.

Then halfway around the track, my side and my back seize up. Like an ice pick the cramp tightens. I double over, eventually managing to straighten up. I walk lamely back to the Ranchero. I close my eyes, sitting there for a few minutes then I head home.

OoO

"Pony?" Liz says, holding out the phone when I walk in. Darry's at the table, plans spread out on top of it, a cold beer next to him "It's Max."

Darry's eyes are on me when I limp across the room and take it. "Yeah?"

"Wiese changed his mind. He wants to talk to you. He'll work with us, Curtis." I hear Max grin over the phone. "I think he missed you."

"Swell. So what next?"

"Get up there tomorrow. Buy the guy dinner, make small talk, get the scoop. You know, journalistic ideals."

"Right," I say, hanging up.

OoO

"You changed your mind?" I slip into the familiar chair.

"Yes, I have. I reckon, I help you and get some company out of it or I help you and get a deal." Willy chuckles. "After da cops see what I give you dey'll come crawling back."

I smirk inwardly, Willy's still up to his wheeling-and-dealing ways.

"Those men that came around…" Willy wrings his hands. "They be back."

"Yeah," I say. "Tell me something I don't know. Tell me about the Tulsa Terror."

"Ahhh hooo," he wheezes. "'Dat be the worst name. I nearly shit my pants when I read that."

"Again, tell me something I don't know."

Willy's mouth turns up into an ugly grimace. "_You_ don't know him. You don't see his face in your dreams like Willy does. He's got eyes that could cut glass…" He draws out _glasssss_ and I shiver. "He just takes up. Picks dem up. Who he likes. Tulsa's in for a hell of a winter. I hope you can stay warm."

I shrug off the references, most of them lost on me. "Who is this guy?"

"I can't know yet. I see…I see…" He shuts his eyes, pounds the table. "He wears a uniform; he waits and watches, he stays in da shadows but moves up high into the light…"

It sounds like a bad horror movie but I don't laugh.

"You said all that before."

"Now write _dis_ down, My Boy. You'll need it. When you see the head of JFK, you're close. He'll be near. Then there's an explorer. Someone who found the new land…" Willy opens his eyes. "Don't worry, when I get more you'll be da first to know."

I don't know what I'm doing here. Sitting in a jail cell, waiting for a murderer who claims he's psychic to pass along key information no one else has. I must be a goddamn idiot but still, here I am, too stupid to give it up. Darry already thinks I'm nuts and who am I kidding, I probably—

"It'll get easier," Willy says. "The more you come here, the more I tell you. You'll believe. You'll believe me. You'll believe all of it."

I rub my jaw, caught off guard, my thoughts echoed in Willy's statement. "Kinda full of yourself ain't you?"

"Oh, My Boy, we all are with our own special talents…you should know that."

Shrugging, I reach for a pack of smokes and Willy starts. "Oh, oh, oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you." Touching his chest, he closes his eyes again. When he opens them they're wild.

"The pen," he snarls.

I hesitate, remembering the Cherry Hills incident with Lester, but then hand it over. Willy dips close to the table, pulling my notepad away and starts scribbling. His hand goes 'round and 'round like a child's and when he's done he sits up and shoves it my way.

He's drawn a dark circle, colored and filled in. Willy has his eyes shut. "'Dis."

"What? This what?"

"'Dis dark spot will swallow you. It'll grow. I warn you now, My Boy, no more white sticks or you won't even see it comin."

Then like a warning I open up my mouth to tell him he's crazy only to cough instead. Red spews from my mouth, I catch it in my hands.

OoO

"There's nothing," Kathy says. She holds up a film to the light. "You're fine, Ponyboy. Although, I don't know what in the world you're doin' picking up the smokes after last time."

I take the film from her. She's right. It's clear. "Sorry," I say. "Listen, thanks Kath, for sneaking me in here."

Kathy smiles, her cheeks plump and rosy. "In this hospital no one's ever gonna know." She rests a hand on my knee. "You stop though, okay?"

"I will. I'm done." Whether or not Willy Wiese is right I'm not taking the chance to find out. The blood alone was enough to scare me, taking me back two years.

"Good. Now you oughta get home and get cleaned up," she says. "You look like you've been in a slaughterhouse."

The entire front of my shirt is drenched in bright red. I wipe at it but it's dry. "Yeah," I say. "Guess I should." I slide off the table and grab up the stick. I crumple my pack of cigarettes in my fist and trash them.

"Pony?" Kathy says, her green eyes wide. "You don't think these murders are going to keep happening do you? I promised Two-Bit I wouldn't ask you but I'm just…I'm just scared."

"They might. They really might, Kath."

She gives a curt nod like she's deciding whether or not to ask me anything else, when her face brightens. "Hey!" she says. "I hear you're taking Two-Bit out next week for one last fling."

"We are, though I'm not too sure what we're doing exactly."

"Aw, you'll figure it out. He's happy as long as there's beer."

"You know," I say and laugh. "You're the only nurse I'll ever like."

Kathy giggles; she'll make a good wife. "That's the best compliment I've ever got, Ponyboy Curtis."

OoO

Words keep turning over in my mind on the drive home. _When you see the head of JFK, you're close. He'll be near…_

"What the hell does that mean, Willy?" I mutter.

I'll admit, he scared me bad. With the words and the blood and the creepy drawing, Willy Wiese is making me into a believer.

I turn on the street where the DX is and catch Soda hopping into his truck and speeding off. Seeing the opportunity arise, I take it. I slow the Ranchero and I follow him.

OoO

I don't really get it when Soda pulls up at the playground. I park a block down, keeping my brightly colored car out of eyesight, grab one of the expired _Tulsa World's_ and the cap I tried to fool Willy Wiese with from the dash of my car and walk the perimeter of the playground. I choose a bench, decently out of Soda's line of vision. I'm a walking cliché from those old detective movies my dad used to watch. Sighing, I shake out the paper and pretend to read.

Soda walks across the gravel, kicking rocks, and when he sees her, he smiles.

She climbs out of some car, bundled in a heavy sweater. Sandy looks exactly the same as she did in high school. Maybe a little curvier and a bit harder but she's still pretty enough, her eyes that soft blue. That's when two things hit me at once – Sandy's bringing a little girl out of the backseat and she's wearing a wedding ring. A big rock on her left hand.

Soda gives her a kiss and then Sandy's picking the little girl up, cradling her in her arms. My brother's smile fades a bit as Sandy makes introductions, and I bet this is the kid. The kid that undid it all.

Still, Soda's a good sport; he leans close, his words muted. The little girl smiles and buries her face against Sandy's arm. "Oh, Soda," I moan. "What're you doing?"

Jesus, I picked the wrong day to quit smoking.

Soda and Sandy look like the goddamn prom king and queen. They sit on a bench, their backs to me, and Sandy lets her daughter run off to play on the monkey bars. Watching the two of them is like watching a train run off the tracks in slow motion. I can't believe my brother. Soda, screwing around with a married woman, and it's Sandy no less. It's not that Soda's a saint, I just expected better from him. I never thought he'd do something like this.

OoO

"It's lookin good, Dar…" Soda says, giving a whistle and evaluating Darry's workspace. The trailer's warm and now fully equipped to have Darry work in it. "Really coming together, wouldn't you say so, kiddo?"

"It does," I say to Darry because I can't stand looking at Sodapop. "It really does, Darry. Now you just need a nameplate."

Darry chuckles.

"When do you expect to be up and runnin'?" Soda peers out the blinds.

"Well, we're gonna keep it low key for now, get the crew in, work out of the trailer…but I'm thinking maybe early spring." Darry beams, sticking his hands in his pockets. "We even got ourselves our first job."

I listen as Darry tells us about his first customer. Some hot shot lawyer who's building a house a few miles out of town.

The phone rings, and Darry steps away to answer it. The tension's thick in the air; I haven't called or seen Sodapop for a week. He's picked up on it, his eyes on me.

"You want to grab lunch, Pone?" Soda checks his watch and flashes me a smile. "I have to be back at work at about one but I can swing it."

"I'm sure you can."

Soda frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I shake my head. "Never mind."

"No…" He moves closer. "Hell, you've been acting weird for the last week…did something happen? Are you in trou—"

"No. And it's not me, Sodapop."

"What's with you guys?" Darry asks. "I've never seen you two this quiet." Soda looks just as confused as Darry.

"Nothing," I say. "Nothing. Look, I'm late for work. I gotta go."

I bump into Steve pulling into the gravel lot on my way out. And while I think it's odd he's there, I just give him a wave and he cuts his engine.

OoO

_Pardon typos. _

_Please review. Maybe you'll get a bonus chapter later in the week. (Bribe!)_

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	13. A Bachelor

_You guys rock. Here's your early chapter._

_I don't condone drunk driving, but it's the 70s folks. And it's fiction. _

_I think._

A Bachelor

OoO

I finish telling Nick about Willy Wiese and the JFK and the whole explorer bit.

"So you believe him?"

"After all I've seen, hell, I got to. He's been right more than anyone and I'm not willing to mess with that right now. Are you?"

"I guess not," Nick says doubtfully.

"Look, he's just a lead. That's all."

"A lead that got you to give up smoking."

"Hey, I had to sometime, didn't I?"

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that Curtis." Nick watches as I shove papers and pens into my bag. He grins. "So you ready for tonight?"

I think of everything that's been going on – Soda, Steve, me, an irritated Darry…toss alcohol into the mix and oh yeah—

"It's gonna be a goddamn mess."

OoO

"Bowling, beers and boobs," Steve is saying to Two-Bit. "We got everything you need tonight, buddy."

"Who's got the boobs?" Two-Bit says, whooping. "You Stevie?" His face lights up when he sees Soda, Darry and Nick sitting in the pews of our bowling alley lane. "Hey guys! Long time, no see."

Soda laughs. Darry, a scowl on his face, says, "You're late."

I tell him, "It took us a while to round Two-Bit up."

"Yeah," Steve says. "He insisted we blindfold him on the way over even though he knew where we were going."

"Hey, I have to be surprised somehow. And remember, Dar, patience is a virtue." Two-Bit props a hand on his hips, evaluating the six of us. "Man, I really need to get more friends."

I step around the crowd. "Kathy's brother's coming later. Curly's on his way, maybe. Tim too, if he's not in the cooler..."

The waitress comes and Darry, probably feeling that we all need it, immediately orders a bucket of beers.

"Tonight shall go down in history as one of the better parties. Kinda like the Titanic or the Hindenburg."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Those were both disasters, Two-Bit…they weren't parties…"

"And here I thought they were both celebrations of some sort…but never fear, Ponyboy, tonight shall go down in historical nonfiction…"

"Can you shut him up?" Steve snaps. "Shut him the fuck up and let's bowl."

OoO

Steve and I go to the bar for the next round. Behind us, I can hear the whoops and curses from our lane. Everyone loosening up. Hell, throwing a party's a lot harder than it seems. It'll be a wonder we don't get tossed out of here.

While we wait for the beers I tell him about Sandy and the kid. His face goes darker than dark and for a minute I'm actually afraid of Steve Randle.

"I really want to punch your shit-for-brains brother right now."

_Get in line_, I think. "We're gonna have to tell him. He already knows something's up."

"Shit, kid, you've never been good at hiding much."

"Yeah, and you're a ball of sunshine these days."

Steve snorts.

"What does he think, he's playing house? Is that it?" Steve grabs up the beers and then grabs my sleeve, pulling me back before I can walk off. "He's gonna get hurt again and this time I'm not gonna give a shit."

"You give a shit, Steve," I say tiredly. "That's why you're so goddamned pissed off."

OoO

Darry flexes his muscles, takes a step and lets the ball sail. It crashes into the pins, easily a strike. Soda whistles and Two-Bit waves his beer in the air. It's smoky in the bowling alley, Motown filtering over the sound system.

Soda hands me a beer and sits down. "Ain't you gonna bowl?"

"I don't think I can. And I don't really want to try it out here." I give him a small smile; he looks like he needs it.

He ruffles my hair. "How're you feelin' these days? Darry said you're still driving up to the prison…"

Blinking, I suddenly realize how out of touch Soda and I are. He doesn't even know what's going on. "Yeah, something like that…still interviewing that guy. Trying to get a handle on this story. Whatever it is."

Soda evaluates me, says, "You ain't been smokin' much."

"At all. Gave it up."

Soda smiles. "I knew you could do it."

"It's only been a week," I say, afraid of letting him down. Afraid of what will happen if I can't quit. But I have to, I remind myself. I have to.

"Don't get your hopes up."

"Still," he says. "It's something."

My eyes drift as Steve and Nick come walking across the floor, carrying a tray of shots.

Two-Bit pulls me up and sticks one in my hand. He loops an arm around my neck. "Don't let me down, kid."

Darry shouts something about how if I puke in the house, Two-Bit's cleaning it up, but no one really hears him.

OoO

Two-Bit rubs his hands together when he sees the bar. "Good choice, Pony." I smile at Steve and he just nods.

The bar's dark, dusty and grungy. Rock and roll pumps from the jukebox and the waitresses wear short tank tops and blue jeans. Considering the bars that are popping up around town, with the flared pants and the different music, this is more our style.

Eleven o'clock and everyone has a good buzz going. We pile up to the bar and shout orders. _Man_, I think, _my face is gonna hurt something awful tomorrow_. But Two-Bit's smiling and happy and that's all that matters. And in one of those stupid drunk moments, I have an epiphany. Two-Bit's the best out of all of us really. Sure he drinks too much and doesn't take life seriously, but he's honest. He's a good friend, who'd help you out anytime you needed it. He's done it for me so many times I can't even count anymore—

"Hey, hey, none of that." A hand waves across my face. I blink, coming out of reverie. "No thinking tonight, Ponyboy," Two-Bit says. "C'mon, I see that brain working."

He stretches an arm out and grabs his beer from the bar. "We're here to have fun. To drink manly drinks. To stay out until the wee hours of the morning…"

"You drink too much, man."

Two-Bit laughs. I bring my third drink to my lips. "You're 20 now," he says – more like slurs. "And I still see you as this kid. Everyone does." He raises his beer. "Isn't he, Dar?"

Darry comes over, leaving the game of darts the others have going. He glances at me, giving me a soft smile. When Darry gets drunk he gets goofy; drinking together an odd experience probably for the both of us.

"Isn't he what?"

"The baby," Two-Bit says. "The only one young. Young one."

"Aw, c'mon, lay off." I duck under his arm and hobble over to Nick. Behind me, Two-Bit's shouting something about blondes. Nick sticks the dart in my face. I swat it away with a grin.

"I'm surrounded by idiots."

"Drink more," Nick giggles. "That's your problem."

OoO

Curly Shepard and Kathy's kid brother Richie show up an hour later. Two-Bit was right, Richie is a greasy hood. He sits in a corner and picks at his nails with a knife. Curly buys the next round. There's a long scar across his jaw from 'Nam. He doesn't say much and I wonder if he even remembers me.

"We need change!" Soda announces. He points to the pool table and suddenly dashes off into a crowd of people.

"I don't know how he does it," Darry mutters. He stifles a yawn.

"Can't keep up with us, Dar?"

"I'm just getting my second wind," he says, raising a brow that tells me otherwise.

I gesture at the crowded bar. "So we gonna be throwin' one of these for you soon?"

He laughs. "Not for a long time, Pony."

"Liz is really great, Dar."

"She is. And we got a good thing goin'."

"Why ruin it, right?"

"Exactly."

There's a tug at my elbow, cutting off our conversation. I spin around, beer sloshing everywhere. "Curtis," Nick says, his dark eyes amazed. "You gotta get over here."

OoO

Over by the pool table Soda's holding up a coin, bitching to Steve about how the guy screwed him over because the coin-operated pool table definitely doesn't take fifty cent pieces. "Want this Pony?" Soda asks, flipping it my way.

I catch it; turn it over in my palm. "_Sonofabitch_."

On the silver half dollar, John F. Kennedy's profile stares up at me. His head. _When you see the head of JFK, you're close. He'll be near..._

"Soda!" I grab my brother's arm, trying not to fall over as the floor spins. "Who gave this to you? Where'd you get this?"

"Some guy," he says, shrugging. "Passed it across the room—_hey, Pony_!"

Turning, I trip and go sprawling across the floor. I swear as my side gives a jolt. Someone shouts but then I'm up again, shoving and limping my way through the crowd. Faces blur, no one's in anything resembling a uniform, everyone neutral and calm. A bunch of people in a sea of drunks.

I reach the back door and barrel outside, the night air icy against my face. Dumpsters line the alleyway, a white truck parked near a dumpster, graffiti on the brick wall across the street: EAT SHIT AND DIE.

Nick reaches me first, panting. "I don't fucking believe this."

"He was here."

"We don't even know what he looks like, man."

"I know, it's just that—"

"Pony?"

Nick looks worried. Needles claw their way up my spine. I suck in a gasp and squat, rubbing my face in my hands.

"Jesus Christ," a harsh voice bellows. Steve Randle slams open the back door. "I think you scared the shit out of about 20 people back there. What gives, Ponyboy?"

I say, "Nothing, man..." and try to straighten out.

He's standing over me, I look up. "C'mon," he says, helping me to my feet. "Soda's puking his guts up in the bathroom, we'd better git."

OoO

Darry and Steve help a miserable-looking Sodapop climb into Darry's truck. "He's gonna be hurting in the morning," Nick murmurs.

"He never drinks that much," I tell my friend.

"I want to talk to you at home," Darry says to me in a tone that broaches no argument. Gunning the gas, he takes off for Soda and Steve's apartment.

Two-Bit and I pile into Nick's truck.

"You know, Pone," Two-Bit says, "Except for the puking – ah, hell, who am I kidding, even with the puking – I had a grand old time tonight."

"Good," I say and I laugh. "That was the general idea."

"I'm glad you were here for it, kid." Two-Bit tosses an arm around my neck. He's getting serious, drunk but serious. "We lost Johnny and Dal and we couldn't lose you either…"

Nick stiffens.

"You're my best friend, kid, you know that right?"

I laugh. "Two-Bit, just shut up now, okay, man?"

When we pull up to the house, Kathy's waiting on the porch, wrapped in a bathrobe. She gives us a wave and blows a kiss at Two-Bit. He looks at me, smiling roguishly. "Now that's a good woman."

OoO

"Soda okay?"

Darry's in his recliner, a book fanned out over his leg. "Yeah, he's fine. Don't think he realized how much he was drinkin' tonight."

"None of us did." I pass him and sink onto the couch. I close my eyes, the tiredness of my body catching up with me.

"So, you want to tell me what happened at the bar?"

I eye my brother. "Not really."

He looks pissed. "Ponyboy—"

"You wouldn't believe it, Dar, so why bother?"

"But you believe it?"

"Yeah. I do."

"It's that guy isn't it?" Darry snaps, the worry lines on his face creasing. "Filling your head with bullshit—"

"It ain't bullshit though," I say, my voice rising. "He's said stuff – things that I can't explain. He knew about my hand, Dar. About…other things…"

Haggard, Darry runs a hand across his jaw. "Don't make me worry about you. Don't do something you shouldn't."

I close my eyes again. It's already too late for that.

OoO

I go see Sodapop the next day.

He lets me in with a murmured hello. The lights in the apartment are low, the blinds drawn. "How're you feelin?"

"Oh lordy," he says, embarrassed. "I don't know how ya'll drink like that. I could stay in bed for days."

He offers me some coffee; I hover in the small kitchen, awkwardness brewing. I just hold onto the mug when he hands it to me. "Pone?" he says. "It ain't gonna bite you."

I set it on the counter. "I know about Sandy."

"What're you talking about?"

It's the lie that really stings. Soda's never lied to me. He's always been honest, been straight with all of us, especially me. I don't care if he messes up – lord knows I've done my share – but for him to hide it, hell, I don't know what to think anymore. He's better than that.

I slump against the counter and cross my arms. "I saw you with her, Sodapop. _I saw you_."

Guilt flickers across his face for a moment and then he slowly nods.

"So what're you doing?"

"Pony…"

"No," I say. "I want to know."

"She's staying with her parents for a few months…"

"And so what you thought it'd be a good time to shack up?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Sandy's _married_, Sodapop," I say and he goes pale. "She's got a kid that ain't yours."

"Leave it alone, Ponyboy," Soda says, stalking out of the kitchen. I follow him.

"Steve and I we're both—"

Soda whips around, his handsome face screwed up. "Oh, so Steve put you up to this? That's why two've been buddying around so goddamn much?"

"Steve don't have anything to do with this. Heck, we both saw you comin' out of that Holiday Inn. Sandy's no good, Sodapop, she hasn't changed…"

"Mind your own business," Soda says. "You don't know what I'm doing."

"Yeah, well, whatever you're doing, you shouldn't be doing it."

"Don't worry about it, Ponyboy. Just leave it the fuck alone."

"But Soda…I _am_ worried. You can't go thinkin' you two can get back together. She's got a kid, she's married. Don't be that guy—"

"Hey, I don't remember asking for your opinion," he suddenly snaps and my eyes widen at the anger in his voice. The hardness. "Stay out of my life, Ponyboy. Just because you can't handle your own, doesn't mean you have a say in mine. You got that?"

He won't look at me and so I leave.

OoO

I call Soda's best friend.

"Better you than me, kid," he says when I tell him about Soda's eruption. There's a long beat, irritation swirling around inside my head.

"Fuck you, Steve." I slam down the phone, angry at everyone right about now.

OoO

"They found this last night."

Max tosses down five 8.5 x 11 black and whites on top of the lunch sacks on our desk.

Nick gags on his sandwich, slapping it in the trash. "Aw, Max, what the hell…"

I turn away, sickened. "Where'd you get those?"

"Inside deal with someone." He slides the photos closer to me. "Jake Columbus. Torso found behind Misty's Diner, head behind National Bank and hands and feet at Lake Elmo."

_Then there's an explorer. Someone who found the new land…_

"Is that all of him?"

"I'd say it's enough, don't you think, Curtis?"

I grab up my keys, a familiar craving inside. The chase. The story.

OoO

"You got me. Fair and square." I hold my hands up as the guards lead Willy Wiese in. "I believe you."

"News…ain't it grand…" He eyes my hand. "When's the bandage come off?"

"Next week. Christmas Eve."

"What a gift, My Boy."

"I need a lot more than that." I tap the pencil against the table. "He was there that night at the bar. I probably passed him more than once."

"I bet dat just eats you up inside. I bet you're goin through something that aches awful." Willy takes a look at my face and says, "You want me to fix that hole you got in you?"

"I ain't got a hole, Willy." My voice sounds weak, even to me.

"You been working on that strength fo' a long time." Greedily, he rubs his hands together. "You gonna run out one 'dese days. Run out like your parents did and just hit the skids."

I spread my fingers across the table. "Willy…"

"Tell me about your ma."

"I'll never tell you about her."

"You 'den." He nods. "I got something for you if you tell me."

OoO

So I traded stories with Willy Wiese, telling him about that night at the park and the fountain. How Johnny saved my life and took Bob's. It was hard—harder than I thought it would be to recount it but somehow I managed. When I finished, Willy had sat back, looked at me and said, "Your whole life's covered in blood, My Boy."

Again, he's right.

Only now, sitting in the parking lot of the penitentiary I read the notes I took, the tip I got from trading stories, and have my doubts. I wonder what I'm doing and the buzz rings in my head. And yet I have Willy's prediction on where I can find the Tulsa Terror. It's the day after Christmas, the 26th.

_12/26. Tulsa Freight Company, 10pm. Bring a jacket, it will be __coal__ (cold?) that night._

I had underlined coal. I thought he had meant cold, but Willy Wiese kept saying coal. And so, coal it is.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Ok, so I love this chapter b/c of the bachelor party. Plus the fight. Sigh. _

_Please review! It was awesome hearing from everyone. Plus, thank you to those I can't send a DM to. I really appreciate._

_XO, Feisty_


	14. A Job

_Disclaimer: SE Hinton owns, cursing, dark subject matter, all that good stuff I know you like. _

A Job

OoO

"Let me see," Liz says, giving a light tap on my door.

I smile and show her my hand. It's free from the bandage; a little paler and weaker but it's free. The pinkie finger's in a splint, a faint scar over my knuckles.

Darry appears over her shoulder. "It looks good, Ponyboy."

Gently, I flex it, rotating my fingers. "Doc says it healed up nice, so…" _Lucky me_, had been on the tip of my tongue but I bite it back. I give a shrug instead.

"Come watch _It's a Wonderful Life_ with us," Liz says. She gives Darry's hand a tug and winks at him, then moves off.

"You ain't working tomorrow, are you?" Darry asks, sitting on the edge of my bed. Guessing this is as close as he'll get to hinting that I better _not_ be working, I close my file with a sigh. Beneath the folder are the black and white photos. They'll haunt me until I die. I can't imagine what Jake Columbus experienced. To be cut up like that—

"No way, it's Christmas." I manage a smile but Darry doesn't buy it.

"It's gruesome shit, Ponyboy," he says, frowning. "That poor Columbus kid. I used to work with his dad you know?" I start, not realizing how close to home it's all hitting. "He's real broken up," Darry continues. "I hope the cops find this sonofabitch soon."

The whole city's scared, Darry included. Then looking like he wants to say something else and deciding against it, my brother stands and pats my shoulder.

OoO

Flora tries to eat a piece of eraser from my pencil. I grab it from her. She hands the notebook back. "I thought you were smarter than this, Ponyboy." She looks solemn. "No one can read minds."

"I thought so too…but Flora…he knows. He just does."

She presses a bony finger into my temple. "So smart."

Marie laughs, her red curls bouncing. "Just be smarter than you were here. You do what you do, but you make sure folks know. You need backup, like in the movies."

Flora squirms on the couch. "I want to get out of here. I want to go home with you. I want to help you."

I laugh, my stomach in knots. "Help me with what?"

"With your story."

"I'll solve it, don't worry, Flora."

"You know the boy will," Marie says. She stands, grimacing slightly. Two orderlies are making their way toward her. "I've got to be going now." Patting the top of Flora's head, Marie moves away, one of the orderlies taking her elbow.

"She goes away a lot. Gets zapped." Flora chews a string of her hair. "Merry early Christmas, Ponyboy."

I wince.

OoO

It's just the four of us this Christmas. Which is fine with me, I'm not in the mood for a big group.

The fireplace is going, the lights on the tree blinking. It's warm and cozy inside the house, the dark skies outside signaling more snow is on its way.

Soda comes over at about ten, murmuring a soft hello and plopping his gifts underneath the tree. Avoiding my eyes, he ducks into the kitchen, asking Liz where Darry is. Then he bounds out the back, the garage door rattling in the distance.

OoO

Soda clears his throat. "Thanks Pony. You betcha I'll use these," he says holding up the welding gloves. I mutter _welcome_ and Soda glances away. Darry's been watching us like a hawk this entire time, apparently deciding our silence is something more than we've been letting on.

It's Liz's turn next; she opens hers – a scarf, a book, and then gets to Darry's gift, a gold necklace with a long chain. "It's beautiful, I love it. Thank you."

The phone rings and I stand to get it, thinking it's Two-Bit with some inappropriate Christmas greetings. "_Collect call from Oklahoma State Penitentiary_," the robotic voice says in my ear. "_Will you accept the charges_?"

"Sure." I wait for it and then Willy Wiese is on the line.

"My Boy, Merry Christmas."

I turn my back to my family and lower my voice. "What do you want Willy?"

"I saw it again. Last night in my sleep. I just wanted to remind you about the coal."

"I know. I got it."

"See that you do." He hangs up and when I turn around Darry and Liz are cleaning up wrapping paper and bows.

OoO

It isn't easy staying mad at my brother. After an awkward dinner, consisting mostly of talk about Curtis Construction and old Christmas memories of our parents, I find Soda on the porch puffing away like a chimney. He bristles when he sees it's me.

"Don't start," Soda says. "I already got into it with Steve this morning and I ain't itchin to rehash it."

"What're you gonna do, Sodapop?"

"Shit, I don't know, Ponyboy." He throws the cigarette butt into the snow. "And would you stop looking at me like that? Christ…" Guilt and shame shows plains on his face. Being caught and being judged isn't something he ever wanted. Hell, it's hard for me to do.

"Soda, listen…"

"Damn it," he swears, jerking away. "Will you just get out of here?"

"Alright," Darry announces, stepping onto the porch. He's been watching us all afternoon, now finally deciding to intervene. The screen door slams behind him. "What the hell's going on with you two?"

"Ask him," I say, ducking behind Darry to slip inside. Soda's dark eyes follow me. Normally I'd stay and help my brother but he's bound and determined to battle this until the end. He can fight his own fight with Darry.

They're on the porch for about five minutes before the voices start to rise.

OoO

"I've never been so mad at him in my life," Darry says, off on a rant. Soda left right after their argument and Darry's been pissed ever since. "What in the hell is he doing, wasting his time on her?"

"He loves her," Liz soothes, rubbing his back.

I frown, Soda's words from two months ago in my mind: _"I ain't in love, but I'm happy…"_ Was it all a lie? I've never been so confused. The buzz begins its incessant pulse. I place a hand against the wall and listen in the shadows of the hallway.

"You didn't see him back then, Liz," Darry says. "He just barely got over it. And if I know Soda, today he was just sitting around here, thinking about Sandy, when she's off with her husband and that kid…Christ… At least Pony, at least Pony has sense…"

I quirk a brow, that's a new one.

"I just want him to stop messing around with these stories and go back to school…"

_And_ there it is…

"Shhh," Liz says. "You worry too much about those boys."

"It's hard not to. It's been my job for a long time."

"I know it has. And you're a good man for it."

OoO

The day passes slowly. Even though I heard Marie loud and clear, I don't tell anyone about tonight. I can't. Telling someone would just give me more problems. There's no use sounding the alarms for nothing.

Since I can't smoke, I drink black coffee. Cup after cup until Nick raises a brow and asks what's with me.

"Nothing," I say, trying to stop my leg from bouncing. "Nothing's wrong."

Shrugging, he goes back to his story, punching the keys on the typewriter slowly. Nick's off. Has been for the last few months. Lately, worried and unsure have been his usual MO, there's not a trace of the cocky guy I met in community college. But I don't have to ask him what the problem is. I know it, it's the same problem I have.

It's Miami, working her magic.

OoO

I show up at the tracks at a quarter to nine. I zip my jacket up to the chin; I've left the stick back at the office. It won't do me any good, whatever happens. Planning ahead, I had also left the Ranchero back at the Tulsa World and hitched a bus ride down to the South Side.

Tulsa Freight's been around since the 30s. It's where Billy Bauer's head was found.

I blow into my hands to warm them and cross the tracks. I squint in the dark, taking note of the boxcars, all of them different colors with different symbols and names. I touch the side of one; cool steel. Johnny and I hopped one of these, I think and it feels like a million years ago.

Kicking rocks out of the way, I meander through the cars. There're no stars out, the clouds covering any extra brightness. I finger the flashlight in my pocket, but don't turn it on just yet, not wanting to get spotted.

Just when I'm thinking the night's a waste there's the crunching of gravel. Someone else is here.

I dip low, my fingers grazing the ground and peer underneath a boxcar. The tracks stand out, a shadow moves and then walks fast. I skirt around the side of another, keeping low, and come out behind the person. They turn a corner and disappear before I can get a good look.

"Damn it," I hiss and follow, careful to stay a good length behind.

The wind whips but I can still hear soft movement up ahead. Breathing shallowly, I move closer. I'm an idiot, but I don't want to catch the guy; I just want a glimpse of his face. Just one—

A loud groaning sounds above. Metal gnashing against metal. Caught off guard, I freeze and then peer out around a derailed train. Something swings my way, a glint of a blade, and I jump back, banging into the side of the car. My shoulder hits it hard, knocking the door aside. There's a sound of bending metal and then what feels like hard pieces of rock, raining down. I fall across the train tracks, the echo of footsteps running the opposite direction.

Side aching, I draw my legs into myself and run a hand across my face. He'd been _this_ close. When I look up, the side of the derailed boxcar I'd been using for cover stands out in the night: TULSA FREIGHT COAL RESERVE CO.

OoO

After catching a late-night bus back to Downtown Tulsa, I finally make it back to the Tulsa World's parking lot a little after midnight. The soft glow of the lot lights show the Ranchero safe and sound but there's also two other cars parked there. Familiar ones.

"Hey, no!" I shout, limping fast as Two-Bit raises a large rock to the window of my locked car. He freezes, the rock high above his head, and Darry immediately stops pacing.

"What're you doing here?" I ask when I reach them.

"What am _I_ doing here?" Darry's face contorts in relief and then anger. "I couldn't reach you all day, Ponyboy. And then Nick calls, saying your car's still in the lot but there's no sign of you."

_God damn it, Nick_. Nick and his conscience. Next time I'm gonna drag his ass along with me to teach him a lesson.

"Where've you been, kid?" Two-Bit asks.

Darry's eyes practically bug out of his skull when I tell them. "You did what?" he shouts.

"Easy, Dar, easy," Two-Bit says, and then promptly reaches out to slap the side of my head.

"Hey!"

"That's for worrying us sick. And this—" He tries to slap me again but I duck and he ends up hitting my arm instead. "Is for making me leave a perfectly good beer on the counter at home."

"God damn, I told you to call us!" Darry yells. "I told you to keep us in the loop, I told you not to do anything stupid, and what do you do, Ponyboy?"

Darry grabs the sleeve of my jacket. "This guy's no good, and you trust him? You go down to the tracks and you walk in there blind?" My brother's still shouting and I just let him. "It could have been a trap! Did you ever think of that? Huh?" Darry asks when I don't say anything. His shoulders shake.

"Do you even goddamn think anymore?"

"Darry—"

"He could have set you up. Someone could have been waiting for you and you wouldn't have had a chance. Christ, after everything—after Cherry Hills, after Miami, I thought you'd be done with this."

"It's my job. I'm gonna solve this, Dar."

"That's _not_ your job!"

He slams a hand down on the hood of the Ranchero, the bang of metal clattering in the night. Even Two-Bit jumps. "Leave it for the cops!"

"Darry, the cops'll do jack and shit. You know that."

"Jesus, Ponyboy—"

Annoyed that I'm being made to feel sixteen all over again, I pull away when he makes another grab.

"Damn it, Darry! You're not happy when I stay and you're not happy when I leave, so just tell me what you want me to do. If I could have stayed in Miami and made your life easier, believe me, I would have."

Darry looks like he's been hit in the face with a fistful of nails. His blue eyes die, the fight goes out of him. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Make sure he gets home safe, Two-Bit," is all he says before climbing in his truck and peeling out of the lot.

OoO

"I didn't mean to freak him out," Nick says the next morning. "I'm sorry, man, I just thought—"

"Don't," I say. "You're pissing me off, Nick."

"No problem," he says, standing and striding to the door.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, before he can leave our office. "You're right. I should've told you."

He comes back around and sits down. "So why didn't you?" His voice holds hurt and suspicion.

Deep down, the reason's clear – I had wanted to be sure Wiese was right before dragging someone else into it; but I also wonder, if there was a part of me that didn't tell Nick on purpose. Because of Miami.

Nick sees it too. His jaw jumping, he says, "Just next time…tell me, Ponyboy. I'll be there."

OoO

"I didn't see him."

"Who said you would?"

Considering this, I ask, "How do you do it? How do you see?"

"'Dey're like pictures in my brain," Willy says, smiling proudly. "Dey come and go with da flashes of da light. I only get 'dem when 'dey want to be seen."

"And you don't know who he is?"

"I said 'dey're pictures My Boy, not a ball of crystal."

"Did you…did you see what you did to your parents?" I ask, unable to help myself. Curious about what drives Willy Wiese.

"Nah. But I knew. I knew I'd kill 'dem. The first one was da hardest. Brains splatter far and after da first hit all I wanted was for 'dem to stop twitching so I could sleep."

I swallow and look down at my hands. Willy talks for a long time.

OoO

Skulking around Tulsa like a thief.

Everybody in town wants to murder me; Soda's pissed, Darry hates me right now, Nick can barely focus, Max is on my ass to get the next big scoop from Willy when all Willy wants to do is talk about slamming axes into his dead parents' skulls, not to mention the mob's probably still lurking. And even though I haven't worried about them since Thanksgiving, I'll give that to Rosie. She's good. They're still out there.

The only thing I've got is my job. Throw myself into that and then rest can work itself out.

OoO

The clock strikes midnight and all's the same in the small diner. Someone in the kitchen blows a noisemaker. 1973 hits with a whimper. A lone man at the counter works the crossword puzzle.

A whiff of smoke floats my way. "Sorry," Nick says, stamping out his cigarette in the ashtray. "I keep forgetting."

"You know," I say, glancing at the papers spread out around us on the table. "I got all this info from Wiese and can't do anything with it."

"It's background," Nick says with a shrug. He runs a hand down his dark beard. "Something'll turn up. Think about Cherry Hills. It all came together in the end."

I chuckle. "More like at the last second."

Nick drums his hands on the table. "Man, I'm shot." He raises a brow. "You want to crash at my place?"

"Yeah," I say, slowly collecting the papers. "I'd better." Since the scene in the parking lot Darry's barely said two words to me. Even Liz warned me to steer clear. Soda's been MIA and it's just better that I stay away too.

OoO

"Fifteen days, man…"

"Sure is," Two-Bit says, coming out of the front of the tux shop, his face unnaturally gloomy. "You think you Curtis's can pull it together long enough to enjoy some cake and beer in the same spot?"

"Is that all you're thinking about?" I clap him on the shoulder, sidling around him to enter. Bells tinkle above. "Hey, this ain't about us. It's your big day. You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be…" The clerk comes out of the back room and Two-Bit hands him the pick-up slips. He disappears behind the curtain. "It's gonna be one hell of a party," he says, suddenly grinning.

"It better be," I say, walking around the small shop. "It's been two years; most people think you've been draggin your feet."

"Nah, man," he says, smiling soft. "Not with Kathy."

The clerk emerges with a black suit and makes Two-Bit try it on. The tailor comes out and starts adjusting the hems on his shirt sleeves. I try to hide a smile at the way my friend looks – serious, older. His hair's neat and trimmed.

"Two-Bit," I say. "You look like a Soc."

"Hell, I told Kathy I should have worn jeans. Hey, Pone…check this out, what if I wore that Mickey Mouse tie…"

Two-Bit twists around to look at me, jerking his arm away from the tailor to show me where the said tie would be placed even though it's pretty obvious, when there's a loud _riiiip_.

The entire cuff is in the tailor's hand. "Oops," Two-Bit says.

"You see," I say. "This is why we can't have nice things."

Two-Bit lets out a loud whoop and laughs.

OoO

Darry and Liz go away for his birthday. They take a long weekend and drive up to some tourist town. It doesn't sound like Darry's scene but I doubt he wants to celebrate with any of us the way things are right now.

I buy my brother a card and leave it on his dresser. In it, I tell him happy birthday and I tell him I'm sorry.

OoO

It's a combination of two things that eventually makes me move out. The first is the Cadillac, slowly driving past the house, its windows tinted and dark. It's the same one as before and it makes me nervous.

The second is the special delivery I get.

OoO

Max's secretary stumbles into his office while we're having our monthly meeting. She has a white pastry box in her hands. It's leaking red. Nick curses; we all know it's not raspberry filling.

Stunned, I just watch. I watch her carry it across the room. "Get out of here, Marjorie," Max snaps. She drops it on the desk and exits the room at a run

Max takes his sunglasses off. Tells me to close the blinds. He gets a letter opener and right when he's about to puncture the seal, stops. He taps the label. "It's addressed to you."

When he opens it, I turn away to gag.

OoO

"I can do my job better there."

"Troubles at home?"

I give him the finger and he smirks.

"If this is going on…"

I gesture at the horde of cops in his office, quarantining the scene. The Tulsa World is the perfect spot for a crime – the reporters are already here. Nick hovers, harassing cops for information. Cameras flash. The real evidence is in Max's pocket – the card addressed to _Attention:_ _Ponyboy Curtis_. He had swiped it shortly after calling the cops, saying I didn't need any more attention, that it would make it harder for me to work the case.

Relegated to the break room, I take a sip of stale coffee, wincing at the taste. I think of the tongue in the pastry box and fight back the urge to retch.

"I don't want to get my family involved. I get my own place, Max. Or I get out."

OoO

_Pardon typos. Thank you for the reviews. _

_Um, okay. So. I am writing the ending and let me just say…you're in for a ton of crazy._

_That is all._

_XO, _

_Feisty_


	15. A Speech

_It's the wedding! Yay!_

A Speech

OoO

The big neon sign of Mo's Motel is burned out and rusted. The motel's an L-shaped strip of rooms that ends at a Manager's Office. The room's simple: bed, TV, bathroom. A photo of a ship hangs over the bed, painted in ugly pastels.

Max's three month deposit better do its job.

I set my bag on the comforter and throw my clothes in the dresser. I had taken as little as I could to make it as unnoticeable as possible that I wasn't at the house anymore. I left the stick there… Darry's busy, Liz was gone; it was relatively easy, they didn't even notice I moved out.

This is the best decision I've made since moving back to Tulsa. I never should have been staying at home. It was too dangerous, someone could have gotten hurt. I pull the typed note out of my pocket and read it again.

_Attention: Ponyboy Curtis_.

OoO

I show Willy the note.

"He done see you. And he likes dat."

Great. "Well, I didn't see him."

"Quite da disadvantage." Willy bares yellow teeth, his breath rotten.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." He keeps turning the note over and over in his hands. "Anything?" I ask.

"Not at 'dis time."

I stare at him; he sounds like a brochure.

OoO

Steve Randle raises a brow as I walk through the front door. "Finally putting in an appearance, kid?" It strikes me as strange that he has thick book on construction on his lap. "Ain't seen you 'round these parts lately."

"That's a book, Steve," I say, slinging my small duffel bag over my shoulder. "You read it."

He scowls, and I shoot a wave to Kathy and Liz who are in the kitchen. From what I can hear, Liz is helping Kathy with the seating chart. I head to the laundry room, dumping my dirty clothes into the bin. I check the pockets of my jeans and pull out the note from the Tulsa Terror. I add soap, shut the lid and go back to the living room.

"What're you doin here?" It's odd Steve's over without any of us around. Not that he needs an invitation.

"Helping Darry out with some stuff for the shop," Steve grunts.

"Seen Soda lately?"

"Not since Christmas." Settling into Darry's recliner, the rumble of the washing machine sounds loud throughout the house. "Don't think he wants to see me."

"Shit, he's pissed at the world," Steve says. "Knows he's in the wrong…"

"He do anything about it yet?"

"Hell if I know."

"Pony…" Kathy pokes her head out of the kitchen. "How many minutes do you think you'll need for your speech?"

"My what?"

Impatient, Kathy props her hands on her hips. "Your speech."

Steve starts laughing and I get it. "Uh, not more than five."

"Good," she says with a smile and then goes back to Liz.

"Some best man you are," Steve says, a smirk on his smug face. "The wedding's in two days, Pone. Better get crackin'."

"Shut up."

"It can't be that hard, for Christ's sake you write for a living…"

I _know_ what I want to say, _how_ to say it's harder. Especially in front of a crowd. Standing up in front of 50 people to say something heartfelt scares the hell out of me. I flip the _Attention: Ponyboy Curtis_ note over in my palm and snap my fingers at Steve.

"C'mon, you got a pen?"

He tosses one over and I start scribbling on the back of the note.

OoO

The phone rings at six the next morning. Forgetting where I am, I roll out of bed, ready to make for the living room when I realize the phone's beside me on the nightstand.

"It's six o'clock, Max, what the hell do you want?"

"I've been up for two hours. You're slacking, Curtis."

I flop over onto my back and rub my eyes. "I can't work today. I got a wedding."

"That's a beautiful thing," he says. "And you'll be there for it. This is just one little pit-stop in your day."

"What is it?"

"Willy Wiese wants to see you. Says he has something." I hear the flick of the lighter and Max's deep inhale. "Gates open at nine, Curtis."

OoO

Two is when the wedding starts at St. Mary's. I figure I can make it to the prison by nine, get out of there by ten and be back to the motel to grab my stuff by noon at the latest, and then meet everyone else at the church for the ceremony.

It's the best plan I got.

OoO

Eager, I situate myself across from Willy. "You got some information?"

"Good vision this time, My Boy."

"So shoot," I say, positioning my pencil over the notepad.

"Well, 'dis involves two of 'em." Willy cracks his knuckles, K-I-L-L rippling. "Deaths are such a tricky thing…you know 'dat."

I eye the clock on the wall. Go back to Willy Wiese. He shuts his eyes and then cracks one open.

"When 'dey died, 'dey prayed," Willy says. "'Dey prayed for dat light and 'dere it was. It took 'em off into a better place. Darrel went first, your mother holding his hand…she called him her _one real love_ and he died a happy man…"

The small room seems brighter than it was and I glance at the floor, in disbelief at the words that are coming out of his mouth.

Willy continues, "You miss 'dem. You all do. Sometimes when you're alone at da house, you sneak up to the attic, you don't want 'dem to know, and you'll pull her clothes out of boxes and oh my, you'll smell her and you'll remember dat time when you came home from school and she hugged you sooooo tigh—"

"Stop!"

I bang my hands on the table, ignoring the shooting pain searing through my pinkie, now free of the splint. I stand and shove him back in his chair. He rocks back and forth, the shouts of the guards sound outside. Keys rattle in the lock.

"This is why you called me up here?" Willy cackles and my blood is on fire. "How many times do I have to tell you – I'm not talking about them!"

"Maybe 'dey want to talk to you, come back and say hey to their baby b—"

I stick my finger in his face. "I hope you fucking fry in that chair." I shake off a guard as he makes a grab for me and dart outside the cell.

"My Boy," Willy screams as I take off down the hall. "If you want 'dem boys, you have to work for it!"

OoO

The Ranchero rips down the freeway, the Oklahoma Penitentiary getting smaller in my rearview mirror as I swerve across the lanes. "God damn it!" Shaken, I bang my fist against the steering wheel, angry with myself for getting suckered into that scene in the cell. For wasting my time when I could have been with my friends and family today. For being so fucking dumb.

Frustrated, I reach under the seat for a pack of smokes I know I've stashed and dig around. I shouldn't but screw Willy Wiese. I need the nicotine. I need the—

I glance away from the road for one minute and when I look up a black hole's coming at me.

"_Shit!"_

Jamming the brakes, I crank the wheel to the shoulder of the road, the car spinning and spinning. It hits something, the scrape of metal against its side until the driver's side mirror goes flying somewhere across the freeway. The Ranchero comes to a groaning stop on the shoulder, the entire fender lying in the ditch. Jerking my seat belt off, I stumble out, only to see the semi, driving away unscathed, the tail end of the semi reading: _Oklahoma City Wholesale_, the _O_ in _Wholesale_ shaded and colored in.

A deep, dark hole exactly like Willy had drawn on that piece of paper not so long ago. Or, in Willy's words, _a whole_.

I open my fist. The pack of cigarettes hit the frozen ground.

OoO

Still shaking from the close encounter with the semi, I make it to Saint Mary's with an hour to spare. Parking the busted Ranchero across the street, I skid inside the church, taking it all in and then Karen points and yells across the crowd of arrivals, "They're upstairs, Ponyboy."

"Thanks," I mutter.

Not here. Not today. Despite being rattled, I bury my anger and my fear and bound up the stairs.

OoO

All eyes turn when I step inside the small room. Steve's low voice cuts off. Darry's in a corner, hands stuck in his pockets, Soda's perched on an ugly-looking lounge, smoking. Thankfully, Two-Bit's not dressed yet, instead he sits sucking down a beer.

"Where you've been, Pony?" he asks, easily.

I sling the suit bag over the back of a chair. "Sorry," I say. "Traffic." I sit, feeling like a shit for being late.

"Well," Two-Bit says, clapping his hands together. "Now that you're here…who got me something borrowed?"

"Here," Steve says. He pulls out his wallet, opens it and then flings a condom at Two-Bit. "You'll need this."

OoO

"You nervous?" I ask.

"Me? Nervous?" Two-Bit scoffs. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Because you've been babbling like an idiot for the last ten minutes."

"Ponyboy, you don't know genius when you see it."

Finishing his beer, Two-Bit gives his hair one last brushing. After careful scrutiny, he adds some grease and slicks it back. Mrs. Mathews stuffs a pink handkerchief in his breast pocket and he sighs. Karen flashes a camera.

There's a tap on the door and Darry slides into view. He gives Two-Bit a nod and then extends a hand, resting it against my back and guiding me into a corner. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure, Dar…what's goin' on?"

"Where were you this morning? I thought you'd be at the house to get ready." He frowns. "You haven't been there that much."

I hate lying, but today I have to. "I've been crashin' at Nick's or the office. Too many late nights."

Darry's eyes are soft, the shadows beneath dark. He brushes the shoulders of my jacket off, straightening it out; the exact same thing he did before our parents' funeral. I can tell this is his way of trying to make up for our fight, for his cold shoulder.

"Listen, Dar," I say, anxious. "I'm sorry for what happened, for—"

"I got your card, Ponyboy," Darry says. He gives a small smile. "I know."

"Oh, okay. Good."

Darry puts a hand on my shoulder. Squeezes. "Hey," he says lowly. "What's going on with you? You came in here lookin' pretty upset."

I shift. "Dar, I'm nervous." I stick my hands in my pockets, feeling the note, Two-Bit's speech. But I don't think that's what I mean.

He adjusts my tie, lowering the knot. "You'll be fine, kiddo," Darry says wryly. "You ain't the one getting married."

OoO

From his place in the second row, behind the groom's immediate family, our family sits. Steve looks bored, his arm around Evie, Liz whispering to Darry. Soda gives me a slight smile. Edgy, I face the front, trying not to stare at the crowd. Karen, Kathy's maid-of-honor, shoots me a thumbs-up.

The organ sounds, people stand. Right before Kathy begins her march down the aisle, Two-Bit turns to me. "Thanks for being here, Ponyboy."

"Anytime," I tell him, my voice thick.

OoO

"Thank Christ," Steve says, ripping his tie off as the six of us exit the church. "I always feel like I'm gonna spontaneously combust in one of those goddamn things." Evie giggles and snaps her gum.

"It's called a church, Steve," Darry says. "And I'm pretty sure they frown on taking the lord's name in vain too." Soda smiles and I know he's thinking about he and Two-Bit's time in church a long, long time ago.

"I'll remember that Superman."

Liz checks her watch. "The reception's in an hour. We got time for post-drink someplace." Everyone nods, clearly eager to be out of the stuffy atmosphere.

Steve links his hand through Evie's. "Kid, you need a ride?"

"No, I got my car," I say, moving fast in its direction.

"Yeah, I can see that," Steve says, taking off his sunglasses. He's staring across the street. "You hit a bus on the way over here? Where's your fucking fender?"

Following me, Soda steps into the middle of the road, his face creased and I know he's thinking of our parents.

"Ponyboy…"

I wave at him, taking off, ending it. "I'll meet you there, Soda."

OoO

I get through the first two hours of the reception managing to avoid my brothers, thanks to the endless list of things to do. Karen and I sign the marriage certificate, Hank crying the entire time. There're the photos, the congratulations, the first dance and all that other stuff that makes up a wedding.

The Elks Hall is dim and filled, music pumping over speakers, round tables completing the space.

Finally, I collapse into a chair. Two-Bit's mingling with Kathy's family and even though I know he won't change, it feels like everything will. It always eventually does.

"There you are," Soda says, sitting down. He's got a dollar bill sticking up behind his ear and his tie's missing. He sets a beer on the table. "What happened to your car?"

"Hit some ice on the freeway. Took out a stop sign. It ain't bad, Soda. It still runs."

"Yeah but, Pone, you gotta be careful."

I scowl, annoyed. Soda hasn't said a word to me since Christmas and now he wants to give me a crash course in driving safety.

"Darry told me you've been working that—"

I take my own tie off. Toss it on top of a stack of napkins. "You know…I don't want to do this here."

"Pone, listen—"

"No, we don't get to talk about my stuff when you're freezing me out over Sandy. 'Sides, I ain't ruinin' Two-Bit's wedding with my shit, so just drop it, Sodapop."

Soda's face hardens but his voice is still soft. "Bring the car by the DX next week. I'll pound it out. I don't want you driving it the way it is now."

He stands, takes his beer, and rejoins the party.

OoO

_When 'dey died, they prayed. 'Dey prayed for dat light and 'dere it was. It took 'em off into a better place. Darrel went first, your mother holding his hand…she called him her one true love…" _

"—turn."

"What?" I blink. Karen's handing me a microphone. "It's your turn. You gotta talk, Ponyboy."

There's feedback from the mic, a few people mumbling and I cringe. Standing, I pat my pockets until I find the note. _Attention: Ponyboy Curtis_. I flip it over. Keep it short and simple. I look out over the small audience and my nerves jump.

"Hello," I say, numb, my mouth heavy. It feels like I broke my body all over again. Pushing it through this whole day, the running, the accident, the wedding, is making me wish for the stick.

The audience goes silent. I glance at Two-Bit; he's got a goofy smile on his face and a beer in his hand.

Clearing my throat I say, "I've been waiting for this day for a long time now….And I'm sure we all have. After two long years, Two-Bit Mathews is finally getting married…and getting off our couch."

Laughter floats my way but I barely hear it. "I've known Two-Bit for pretty much my entire life. He's been like a brother to all of us. He's the only guy I know who can make anyone laugh at any time. He's always been there for me – cracking jokes, sharing his beer, or walking me home from school when I needed it."

There's more laughter and I wait for it. My throat feels tight. My palms sweat.

"And you want to know something? The truth? Two-Bit's the best one out of all of us. If you ask him to do something, he'll do it. He'll stand by you. So it makes me happy that I can be here for him – especially today. I don't deserve a friend like Two-Bit but I'm sure glad I got one."

I take a breath. "Two-Bit, I can't think of a better girl to put up with you than Kathy." I raise my glass and smile. "Kathy and Two-Bit, we wish you the best."

Soda sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles long and hard.

OoO

"Hey kid…that was some speech…"

It's later in the evening, people shaking hands, getting ready to go. I'm lingering by the front door, gulping in fresh air. The suit's hot and the room's hotter. I keep thinking about Willy, his words about my parents, the speech, the note in my pocket burning a hole through it.

I toss my beer in the trash. "So you dug it?"I ask Two-Bit.

"Are you kidding me? It damaged my rep on a permanent basis." He leans in close and whispers. "Now people think I'm marriage material."

I laugh. "Hate to break it to you but I think you're already married, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit waves to a couple exiting and then looks back at me, his eyes soft. "It was great, Ponyboy. Really great."

"Good," I say, leaning back against the wall, relieved it's over with.

"So here…" Two-Bit says, pulling out a bundle from behind his back. "I got you a little something-something."

Embarrassed, I blush. "Aw, Two-Bit, you didn't have to do that."

"Apparently I did. Kathy gave me a ten minute lecture about gifts for the bridal party. So if it makes you feel any better, I really wasn't going to get you anything."

"I couldn't decide," Two-Bit says, as I open the shoddily wrapped package. "So I got you something you'd want and something I'd want."

Inside is a leather-bound journal with crisp, blank white pages. Next to it is a small switchblade. Nothing fancy, but one that Two-Bit would go for. "This is too much, man."

"No it ain't kid. I figure you can do useful things with both of them. Maybe combine them somehow. No one's figured out how to write with a knife yet, have they?"

I grin, slipping the blade into my pocket. "Thanks a lot. It's great."

Two-Bit beams and then there's a happy voice from the left. "While you two are over hear whispering sweet nothings to each other, we gotta say goodbye to my parents, baby…"

Kathy sidles up, shoots me the biggest smile and slips her arm through Two-Bit's. "You really killed it tonight, Pony." Her eyes move to the gift then back to my face. "Sorry but I gotta steal him away."

"Go ahead," I say with a laugh. "I don't want him anyway."

"Words you'll regret, Ponyboy Curtis," Two-Bit lectures, as he's dragged away. "Words you'll regret…"

For a brief moment, I close my eyes. It's been a good night.

OoO

"Why don't you head on home with us, Pone?" Darry says as he and Liz head to their car, Steve and Soda having left about ten minutes earlier. The parking lot is dim, busted bulbs in the street lights. "I'll give you a lift in the morning and we can take your car to the DX to get fixed up."

I shrug my jacket on. Snow's starting to fall. It's now or never.

"I moved out, Dar."

Liz eyes widen. "Oh, Pony…"

"Since when?" Darry asks, shocked.

"Since last week." Darry and Liz share a confused look. "It's okay," I say. "I'm just down the road."

Desperation instead of anger crosses Darry's face. "Let's talk about this, Ponyboy," he says. "Come home and let's talk."

"It's no good, Dar. I had to get outta there before something worse—something else—happened at home."

My brother's eyes narrow, quick to pick up on it. "What _did_ happen?"

"I got…I got a package at work…" The nervousness is back, the tension from this morning creeping in. I didn't want to get into this here, but it looks like we're going to. "It was addressed to me…it was a tongue."

"A tongue?" Darry repeats.

"A tongue." I rub my temple. "He saw me at the coal yard. I know he sent it."

"This is exactly why I didn't want you involved," Darry snaps, struggling to keep it calm. "And moving out isn't the answer – you'll be alone and—" He breaks off, swears, "God damn it, Ponyboy."

"I don't want to involve you anymore. It's not fair to you and Liz."

Darry takes a step forward, gripping my shoulders. "I'm already involved. You're my brother."

"I'll be okay, Dar."

He looks at me for a long minute and then lets me go.

OoO

_Hope you're enjoying the updating pace. _

_Pardon typos._

_You are the best. Keep reading and I'll keep updating._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	16. A Jump

_Okay. I SO warn you. Cliffie. CLIFFIE._

A Jump

OoO

Sixteen year old Timmy Blake goes missing two days later and is found within eight hours. Two of his eyeballs and half an arm are discovered in a dumpster behind Woolworth's. The rest of his body is missing, what the Tulsa Terror does with that I'm not sure I want to know.

The town's in an uproar; angry there are no leads, worried about their boys.

Swallowing pride and anger, I try to arrange a meeting with Willy Wiese but, because of my last outburst, he won't see me.

OoO

The cops come out with a profile of the guy. Holding a press conference, they announce it on the news a night later. White male, mid-30's, probably a resident of Tulsa...

Willy's profile is better.

The detective goes on to talk about how the victims are all white juvenile males, all Tulsa residents. For the time being, they can't locate a particular geographic area where the boys are being kidnapped from.

I catch a glimpse of Nick in the crowd of reporters. He's rolling his eyes.

Stretching out on the bed, I listen as the detective warns parents and their children to be especially aware of their surroundings and to lock doors at night and to...

The last thing I see before I fall asleep is the cracked and yellowed ceiling.

OoO

"You did what?" Max shouts. The windows in my room rattle.

"Hell, give me a break," I shout back. "What he was talking about, it wasn't cool, man. I couldn't handle it. I flipped out."

"If it costs us this story, you're gonna be sorry, Curtis."

"There is no story, Max. Don't you get it? Willy doesn't know anymore than the cops do."

"Go back down there and make him see you."

Shaking my head, I say, "No. He won't. I tried. Tried more times that I can count."

"So you give up? He won't talk to you and you just walk away? More kids get killed, can you handle that?"

I want to beat the shit out of him.

"That's low, Max. That's real low." I cross my arms. "The cops'll solve it. Sooner or later."

"Christ," Max says, amused. "When you'd get so hard, Curtis?

"When I got fucking stabbed in an alley, man. That's when."

And he grins at me. "Congratulations. You singlehandedly fucked us, and this town, over."

He walks out, slamming the door and that's when I think I'll really lose it.

OoO

"Not now, Soda," I say when my brother shows up on my step, a brown paper bag in his arms.

"Jesus, Pone," he says, slipping inside. "I've been calling you for four days straight. Pick up the phone every once in a while, will ya?"

Numb, I watch him pull bread and a jar of peanut butter from the grocery bag. He sets it on the dresser brushing Coke cans into the trash.

"You look awful," Soda says. He makes me sit down.

I haven't shown up to work in four days. I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

"Darry's worried about you." His dark eyes search my face. "I'm worried about you. Why don't you just come home?"

"Soon, Soda. Besides, I may not be on this story much longer."

"Really? Why not?" he asks and I hear the hope in his voice. The relief.

I shrug. "Just—just nothing's panning out. Nothing's working. And after the last kid…"

"Yeah," Soda says, paling slightly. "Darry and I heard about that…"

My brother walks the room, evaluating, kicking at the radiator. He holds a hand over it and frowns. There's no heat. Hasn't been any for the last week, apparently a three-month deposit isn't worth much.

"You should get someone in to fix this," Soda says.

"Yeah. I should."

I rub my face and wish everything would just go away.

OoO

If I wait for Nick any longer in the alley I'll give up and leave. But they get there first. They hold out sawed off limbs, blood dripping from the nubby stubs. The torn flesh weeping.

I shout for Nick but he doesn't show.

A green eye rolls my way, nerves trailing after it.

OoO

A scream isn't the right word for it. It sears my throat, escaping in a guttural, raw outburst. I thrash in the sheets, jolting up. I pull the string on the light and the room is enveloped in a soft glow.

I wipe at my face, certain I'm covered in blood, but there's nothing. I breathe easy, grasping at straws, trying to talk myself out of it, but Max, the asshole that he is, is right. I can't walk away from this.

OoO

"Well, look who managed to show up…" Max drawls when I walk into his office. Nick twists around in his chair.

"He'll see me," I announce. This morning, I was on the phone for nearly two hours trying to get through to Willy Wiese, and after much prodding it worked. What I'll owe him for this is gonna be interesting.

Max is practically beaming. "Rallied, did ya, Curtis?"

OoO

"I know you want something for this. So ask."

"My, my, my, 'dem ain't pleasantries are 'dey?"

"I ain't got much to be pleasant about, Willy. Another kid's dead and we're all real pissed."

Willy's sunken eyes give his face the appearance of a skeleton. He licks his lips, flecks of spittle spraying the table. "My Boy, I admire your willingness to try, try again. So 'den if your parents are off da table…tell me…who scares you most in this whole wide world."

That's easy. "I hate needles. Never been—"

"Not what. _Who_."

"Well…" I begin again, thinking. "I'd say it's a tie between Dallas and Darry."

"One 'dem dead and one 'dem alive." He sits up. "'Da dark men don't scare you? 'Da men from da beach?"

"No. Looking over my shoulder comes natural."

He grins, his mouth stretching across his gums. "I'm glad we can talk like 'dis."

OoO

It's his turn.

After an hour of bullshitting, detailing my darkest fears and worries, Willy starts pitching his fit, bucking in his chair like a rodeo clown. "He knows 'bout you. You can know 'bout him."

"How much does he know?"

"Enough to get started." He stretches a grimy finger out.

"I see a river in your future, My Boy. Mr. Garfunkel would be pleased. You'll know it when it happens. Patience is a virtue." Willy cracks an eye and grins. "'Dat means give it a week or so."

Unable to help it, I snort.

"Willy, there's that sense of humor everyone's been telling me about."

OoO

"Best man!" Two-Bit greets me with a smile. He rocks in Darry's recliner. The house smells like spaghetti and chocolate cake.

"The wedding's over, Two-Bit."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean the nicknames have to stop."

"How was the honeymoon?"

He raises a wicked brow. "Well, if you must know it was—"

I wave a hand at him. "Never mind. Forget I asked. I don't need to know." I hang my jacket up, snow dripping down its sleeves. "You're married now why ain't you at your place?"

"Well, Kathy works a double most nights, and Karen can't cook worth a hang, so I figured I'd still grace you with my almighty presence."

"Yeah," I say, "I'm sure Liz loves that."

Darry pounds up from the basement, takes in my lack of bags and asks, "You're not staying?"

"Not yet. The story got extended." I don't tell him that I was the one who extended it.

"Soda says you're living in a shithole," Darry snaps.

"But it's his shithole, Darry," Two-Bit says. "And I'm sure that once this gets solved, he'll be right back living with his big brother."

For once Darry and I agree. "Shut up, Two-Bit," we both say at the same time.

OoO

Soda finds me after dinner. "I ain't seeing Sandy no more."

I shut the faucet off, drying my hands on my jeans. "What happened?"

"You and Steve…you were right. It was just a fling. I was crazy to think it coulda been anything else."

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he says evenly.

"You tell Darry? Steve?"

"Yeah. They both know." Sheepish, he rubs the back of his head. "I'm real sorry about what I said to you, kiddo. I was an asshole."

"It's okay, Sodapop. I get it." But I don't know if I believe him or not. It's too easy. Him giving up like this.

Soda grabs a dishrag. "I still shouldn't have talked to you like that, Pone. I was out of line."

"Were you in love with her? This time around?"

He doesn't meet my eyes, instead staring at the dish he's wiping down. "No way, Ponyboy. Not this time."

I don't miss the expression that crosses his face; it's not love or anger. Or even hurt. It's darker than that. A happy type of gloating. Why he still looks guilty, I don't know; I just know he's lying to me again. But I don't say anything. I just let him lie.

OoO

Even though Willy Wiese doesn't have much more information, I drive back and forth to the Penitentiary about three times over the next week. We trade stories and I'm beginning to think he just wants someone to talk to. Apparently, the prison shrink ain't cutting it.

Not that I feel bad for the guy. He's a cold-blooded killer. He's just interesting as hell.

I write a few stories about the war in Vietnam and the protests in California.

There's no sign of a Mr. Garfunkel or a suit or a river but I haven't forgotten. They run through my mind so much that I'm beginning to think I'm looking for things that aren't there. But I'm content waiting for the story to find me.

I'm waiting for it to pour.

OoO

The crunch of gravel sounds underneath my feet. I pull out my keys, juggling a bag of leftover bagels from work. Mrs. Pike from Room 101 walks by and bats her lashes. I give her a nod, shoulder my way into my room.

I flip the light switch and drop the bagels. They roll around my shoes like spokes.

There it is. Just waiting.

A foot's on top of my comforter, white skin glistening in the harsh light.

Fighting panic, I take a step and then another until I realize it's rubber. It wobbles in my hand when I pick it up. Like the one from last Halloween. Then the lights go out, electricity dying with a low hum, and I'm out the door so fast I nearly knock into the manager.

OoO

Darry lets me inside. "Pone," he says, his voice low, telling me Liz is asleep. He follows me into the kitchen. Darry's in a white t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, the light from the TV flickers in from the living room.

"What happened? You okay?"

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Sure you can. You always can." Darry squints. "Nothing's wrong?"

"Power's out at the motel. No electric."

I want to tell him but I know it's not fair. It's not fair to tell him when I won't do anything to change my ways. It's hard; juggling the distance between my life and my work. They keep intersecting. I'll keep them in the dark as long as it will keep them safe.

"You sure that's it?"

I open my mouth, shut it, and then Darry raises a hand. "I know I can't keep you locked down for the rest of your life…but god damn sometimes I just wish you were 14 again so I could ground the hell out of you."

I smile. "Ain't gonna happen, Dar."

"No but…"

He grins but his voice is serious enough that I don't doubt him for a second. "You give me a good enough reason and I'll find a way."

OoO

Nick unzips the duffel bag and peers into it. He jerks back, grimacing. "Sick fucker."

"Max had a good laugh. Told me to re-gift it."

"I'm sure he did. You gonna get rid of that thing?"

"Why? You want it?"

He peers through the blinds. "Just get rid of it. It's bad luck."

"You're superstitious all of a sudden?" Frowning, I cross the room. "Don't worry, I'm gonna take it out to the dump. Nick, man, you listening to me?"

The slats of the plastic blinds clatter. "Yeah. I hear you."

OoO

I drive around town, hunting for a sign. I play Simon and Garfunkel records in my office, but nothing means anything. I run to think. This time I make it around the track without stopping. The pain in my back is taught but loosened.

OoO

Outside of the DX there's a RIVER TRUCKING tow truck and I pull in, asking Steve if I can take a look at it.

"Why? You fixin' on needing another ride soon?"

"Just give 'em to me." He frowns but hands over the keys.

In the cab, I poke around, opening the glove box, checking under the visors. The rosary wrapped around the rearview mirror dangles and I find some poorly chosen Hank Williams 8-tracks and a pack of Lucky's.

When I return, Two-Bit's there, tugging a windshield wiper off a Corvette. He's in his work shirt, the name badge hanging upside down. He whips the wiper my way. "Sadie's Bar tonight. Be there or be fair."

As good as that sounds, we all haven't been in one place since the wedding, I think about all the files stacking up in my motel room. "I can't," I mutter, tossing the keys back to Steve. "I got to work."

"Find what you were looking for?" Steve asks, hanging the ring back on key hook.

"Nah, I didn't." Distracted I turn for the door.

"Hey, Pony," Two-Bit shouts, his arms open. He's smiling but there's a trace of annoyance. "Where you goin' kid? Too busy for us these days? Can't even grab a beer anymore?"

I shoot him a grin. "It's never just a beer with you, Two-Bit."

"He's too busy," Steve says. "Chasing body parts all over town."

If Steve only knew how right he was.

OoO

I get buried in my work. Tulsa's oddly quiet. There're no bodies, no strange packages sent to my attention, no threats. Sleep is a privilege, catching it whenever I can. Willy Wiese's words wheel in my mind: _I see a river in your future, My Boy. Mr. Garfunkel would be pleased. You'll know it when it happens. Patience is a virtue…_

Willy's wrong; I'm losing mine quick.

OoO

"'Course I've been wrong," Willy says. "Many times."

"You said a week. Now it's two and I keep thinking I'm goin' nuts. I just want to know if I'm trying to fit pieces together that ain't gonna fit."

"Oh 'dey'll fit. Soon. You got time, My Boy." He grins and I shake my head.

"Don't say it W—"

"_Tiiiiiiiiiiime is on your side_…"

I give a laugh and stand. "I'm leaving."

Willy closes his eyes. "Don't forget to jump."

OoO

Darry sighs. "You gotta show up one of these days, Pone."

I sling my bag on the kitchen table and grab an apple. I frown; the house is empty, quiet. "Am I late?" I swear the clock had said three.

"A day late," Darry says.

I wince. "Sorry." So far this is the second dinner I've missed. Liz must want to kill me.

"You're working too hard," Darry says, dumping his coffee in the sink. He shuts the maker off.

I groan. "Man, I don't know what you want me to do anymore."

"I want to talk about that Willy Wiese guy." Darry crosses his arms. "You're giving this guy too much credit. There's no such thing…as…as…as a mind reader."

A smile plays on my lips. "Psychic, Dar. He says he's psychic." Darry flushes, working hard to keep up his stoic front.

"You can't even say it, can you?"

My brother may be young but he's old at heart. He's sensible to the point of believing in what he wants to believe, evidence be damned.

Flustered, Darry says, "That ain't the point. The point is you're getting more involved than you should be. Believin' in things that don't make sense and takin risks you shouldn't be."

I laugh and point at him. "It's a job, Dar. You know, I thought you'd be happy I have one by now."

"You know what would make me happy, Ponyboy," he says, turning and leaving the kitchen.

OoO

"Heading home?" Nick asks, glancing up from his typewriter.

"Soon." I grab my jacket off the hook, stifling a yawn. Too many late nights and I make a note to pick up a coffee on the way out. "I gotta make a stop and drop off some overdue library books."

He grins. "Ah, duty calls."

"Something like that." I wave, on my way out. "See ya, man. Don't work too hard."

"You're one to talk." He barks out a laugh that I can hear down the hall.

OoO

It's one of those perfect moments you can't write about. When everything connects and you really get it.

I'm at the lip of the 11th Street Bridge, on my way back to the motel, when Simon and Garfunkel's _Bridge over Troubled_ _Water_ blasts through the radio. It connects like lightening. Slowing, I pull the Ranchero over to the shoulder, cut the engine, and sit in the darkness.

After a long moment, I climb out. The driver's side door flaps open.

It's after ten, there's no snow but a chill in the air. The bridge groans under the weight of the wind, the wire beams holding it up rattling. Made for foot traffic, I keep to the small sidewalk lining the right edge. Small floodlights give me just enough glow so I can see. I zip my thin jacket to the chin.

A small light bobs in the distance, on the opposite end of the bridge, near the Toll Conductor's station, long shut down by now. Adrenaline pounds through my veins, I can't help but grin. That sonofabitch is here.

I pull myself along at a slow crawl, my chest tight from holding my breath.

The Arkansas River rushes underneath the bridge, white chops of waves kicking up against rocks and wind. Every now and then small drops of water splash my face.

Closer now, the light swivels my way again. I press back against a beam and stay still until it floats away.

Peering around a beam, I find I can't see the person up ahead. We're on equal ground; I'm too low to make anything out. Needing a better look and without a second thought, my hand snakes up to grip one of the metal beams. I grab and tug myself up on the railing of the bridge, balancing and walking like a tightrope walker, one foot in front of the other, holding onto wires.

When I get closer, about a foot away, I see him. I see his face in shadows.

The hunch of his back, shoulders soft and heavy. Dark hair on the nape of his neck. Something slimy squirms in the pit of my stomach. There's something wrapped and white in his hands and before I can log everything away, before I can really congratulate myself, he starts walking towards the spot where I'm hiding. He doesn't see me yet but if he reaches me he'll find me.

There's a glint of steel in the dark.

"Shit," I breathe, white puffs floating in front of my face. There's nowhere to go. Nowhere to go but…

_Don't forget to jump._

I glance down at the roaring river. "Christ," I mutter.

I let go of the beam.

OoO

_I warned you. Review and maybe if I feel bad for you and/or get enough threats I'll update sooner rather than later._

_Pardon typos._

_Thank you for all the reads and reviews. _

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	17. A Coincidence

_Early update for you all. Yes, drama. _

_Of course. It's me._

A Coincidence

OoO

"I think he's dead."

"He ain't dead. He's still breathing, dummy."

Something pokes my face and I open my eyes. It's still dark, two young kids standing over me. The kid in a cap holds a fishing pole. I'm on the bank of the Arkansas, directly above the Toll Station; I didn't get too far. There's a small house behind me, smoke brewing from its chimney.

I roll over onto all fours and cough, chills creeping their way through my body. My limbs feel dead. "What time is it?" I ask.

"It's past five," the fishing kid says. "Mama always lets us fish in the morning." He juts his chin out like I'll tell him he can't.

"Shit."

"He said the s-word, Lanny…didja hear...?"

I've been gone since ten last night. Stumbling to my feet, I gag once, palms against my knees, hunched over. The shivering won't stop; the only consolation is that I have an idea of what he looks like. It's not much but it's something.

"Can you show me how to get up to the bridge? Back up top?"

The other kid, the one sucking his thumb, points. "Climb the hill, mister."

I push off my knees with a sigh. "Swell."

OoO

My car's still there, the driver's side door open like a gaping tooth. The ignition turns over but it won't start. I rest my face against the steering wheel, thinking about white body parts rotting in the sun and falling off bridges. When I open my eyes, Steve and Two-Bit are gawking at me from the passenger's side. I swear they could pass for the same kids I just met, minus the thumb in Two-Bit's mouth.

I mumble, "What time is it?"

"A little after seven," Steve says. "Christ, kid, we spotted your piece of shit car from the freeway. It practically glows neon." He bangs on the roof and I wish he wouldn't do that because of the way my head pounds.

"What're you doin' out here, Ponyboy?" Two-Bit asks. "Takin' a swim or something? It's too early to be skinny dipping."

"I jumped off the bridge."

Steve utters a small laugh. "Right. You jumped off the—" He frowns, suddenly taking in my appearance. "Kid, are you shitting me?"

Tired, I say, "I ain't shitting you, Steve."

Two-Bit already has his jacket off. "C'mere," he says, pulling me out of the cab and slipping his flannel jacket over my shoulders. "Put this on." For good measure he adds his floppy hat and touches the side of my cold face. "Jesus Christ."

Quietly, Steve hands his car keys to Two-Bit. "Take him to Soda. I'll get his car back to the DX."

OoO

"They found another one," Soda says as I softly exit his bedroom dressed in a pair of Steve's sweatpants and one of Soda's old gray sweaters. The lights are dim in the room, the TV on low.

Soda skipped out on his last shift to meet us back at his apartment. Two-Bit even managed to get Kathy down here. She had looked me over, proclaimed my vitals as "good" and then she and Two-Bit had both left.

The TV shows shots of the 11th Street Bridge in the background, a high school photo of a blonde boy with a crew cut and glasses. Cops and crew are down by the bank, taking photos, setting up the crime scene.

"They did?" I ask, even though I already know. Something moves in the kitchen and I see that it's Steve.

"They pulled him up an hour ago. Where you were, Ponyboy. _Right_ w_here you were_." Soda's voice is lethal. "His body floating right goddamn there. Now you want to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I saw something out on that bridge last night, Soda…and Willy was right, he said—"

"No, no, no…" Soda's shaking his head. "No, we're not doing this, Ponyboy. I don't want to hear about that freak. I want to hear about you – why in the _hell_ were _you_ out there?"

"Coincidence, then," I say and for a second I think Soda's gonna sock me. I move to the couch and sit down, hunching, resting my hands between my knees because my back's killing me. "Soda, I saw who he is."

Soda blanches. "What?"

"I saw who he is. The Tulsa Terror. I can give a description and tell Max and—"

"Why? Why would you get involved like this?"

"He knows who I am. Has ever since I went down to the tracks."

"What? How do you know that?"

"He sent me something…it's why I moved out. I thought Darry told you…"

Soda's jaw jumps. "No, Darry didn't tell me."

I close my eyes. "I should have told you then."

"So this is all just…what? Some fucked up game?"

"To him, probably…"

Soda paces the room, goes to the window. "This is like Cherry Hills, ain't it? Like that place all over again…"

Soda's always hated that place and what it symbolized. It was hard for my happy-go-lucky brother to see me there and even harder to see the people I was with. And while we were still close then, he felt kept at bay. Darry was really the one to understand, not Sodapop, and it still bugs him.

I try again; the one reason I've been continuously giving ever since I left for Miami. "It's my job, Sodapop."

"You're our brother."

"Look at Darry—he roofs. He's taken how many falls but we still let him do it don't we? We can't stop him…"

"It's different with you," Soda insists. "_You're different_."

"That's not fair…if I could be happy working on cars or covering the Business section, I would. But I'm not. I'm supposed to do this; it's the one thing that really makes me happy. It's like when you dropped out of school – you found what you wanted to do…"

He turns to look at me. Continuing, I ramble, "The Miami story was a bust. I never got to write it. it would have made such a great article, real investigation journalism, but now with this one I think I got a chance to really figure it one out and—"

"_That's_ what you're worried about?" Soda yells and I draw back. "_That_ story? The one you almost died for?"

Steve steps out of the shadows, a cigarette bobbing in his mouth. "Soda, calm down, man." My brother doesn't seem to see or hear him.

"Do you know what you did last night, Ponyboy? You jumped off the 11th Street Bridge! How is that normal? How is that _fucking_ okay?"

Soda lets out a strangled laugh. He shakes his head. "You're obsessed. You keep doing this, you're gonna alienate your whole family."

Exhausted, I say, "You just gotta let me do it. You've been fighting me ever since I got back…I can't turn it off…"

"It's gonna kill you, Ponyboy. Do you understand that?" Soda turns his face to the window and I see that he's crying. "You're gonna die if you keep this up. Something's gonna get you; the mob or this and I won't be there."

Steve bristles in the dark, white clouds of smoke filtering from his nostrils. Pained, I meet his eyes briefly and turn back to my brother. I reach a hand out. "Soda…"

"No. I don't want to fight with you." He lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders trembling. "I just can't do it anymore."

OoO

Darry shows up as soon as he can get away.

"I'm taking you home," he says stiffly, his hands shoved into his pockets. "And if you fight me Ponyboy, I'll drive you back out over that bridge and toss you in the Arkansas myself. You got that?"

Darry's not a battle I want so I agree to go back home.

OoO

I set my duffel bag on my bed and stare at it. Darry had already grabbed up my stuff from the motel room before picking me up from Sodapop's. Hell, my brother works fast.

Liz appears in the doorway of my room. "Oh, Pony, what did you do?"

Gingerly I sit on the bed. "Darry told you."

"He did. And right now he's four shades of angry. And Pony, I'm sorry to say…but I'm kinda wondering…"

"You think I'm cracking up again."

She gives me a look and crosses her arms. She's calmer than I would have expected. "You never 'cracked up' Pony. I'm just worried about where your head is at these days."

"So is everyone else…" I shrug out of Darry's heavy leather jacket, finally warm. "Listen Liz, you have to trust me. I can't explain it and no one wants to understand…but I know what I'm doing."

Liz comes and sits on the bed next to me. "The same thing you thought you were doing in Miami?"

"I knew what I was doing. It just…backfired."

"And if this does?" Frustrated, she lets out a little groan. "I don't like this in our town anymore than you do, Ponyboy," Liz says slowly. "But do you think what you're doing is really the answer?"

"No one else seems to have any."

I shift, reaching over to grab the files from my desk. "Listen, I got photos, Liz…" She recoils like I'm holding a snake but I press it. Someone has got to understand. "I know what happened to those kids. I've seen it. Horrible things – they're going around Tulsa…and I don't think they're going to stop anytime soon."

Face blank, she takes the files, opens one, winces and then quietly closes it. "And you can fix it?"

"I think I can."

"By jumping off bridges?"

I smile. "Maybe."

"Okay," she says, breathing deep, glancing at the ceiling like she's trying to justify what she's about to say next. "You do what you have to do but you be careful. Because if I lose you, I lose Darry. You understand?"

She leans in and grips the side of my face between her palms. "You are positively hopeless, Ponyboy Curtis, but somehow I pray to god you'll be fine."

OoO

"Really, Curtis? Really?"

"Yeah. How'd you hear about it?"

"Soda called me, wanted to know if I had any part of your idiotic idea. Think he would've kicked my ass to high heaven if I told him yes." Nick laughs. "Man, Max can't wait to hear about it."

"Yeah, well he's gonna have to."

I lower my voice, glance toward my closed door, the cord of the telephone strung underneath it. I've holed myself up in my bedroom, unsure and wary about approaching my brother after my talk with Liz.

"I'm in pretty deep shit right now. Darry would kill me if I left the house."

He laughs again, this time a tighter sound. "I'll see you tomorrow, man."

"Tomorrow," I agree and hang up the phone.

OoO

When Darry finally comes to see me, it's late and I'm exhausted. Probably figuring it's all I've earned, there's one warning knock on the door before it swings open. I set my notepad aside, draw my legs underneath me and ignore the pain in my back.

Darry shuts the door and crosses the room. He doesn't sit. Though his face is tight, his eyes are tired. He raises a hand and speaks slow and controlled like he's worried that if he speaks any faster he'll hit something.

"I want you to tell me the truth. All of it, Ponyboy," Darry says. "Right now."

"You can't yell."

"Oh, believe me, I'm far from yelling," Darry says in a dangerous tone.

I look down at my hands and exhale. "Willy told me what to look for…told me that if I followed the signs I'd find the guy. And I did. I found him out on the bridge. I wasn't planning on but I did. I couldn't just leave. Willy's been right so far, I had to listen to him."

"_You had to_…? Jesus, Ponyboy. And how does what you did factor into this? You want to explain that to me? Huh?"

"I couldn't get away, Dar. There was nowhere to go but…but down."

"God help me." He takes a breath, his calm mask cracking. Darry punches a finger at me. "God help _you_, Ponyboy."

I hang my head. "I saw what the guy looks like."

"And you what? Think it'll all go away now? If anything it's gonna make it worse. I don't believe you. I don't believe any of this."

He moves to the door like he's ready to walk out and then stops. He looks over his shoulder.

"You gotta make this easier for me, Ponyboy. You got to make it a whole helluva lot easier."

OoO

Max scribbles as I rattle off a vague description of the man from the bridge. Finally, when I'm finished he looks at his notepad and reads it back.

"Five foot ten, maybe five foot eleven, dark hair, a mustache, fat and stocky. In some sort of suspenders or something. That it, Curtis? That cover it?"

"Yeah. That's it."

Max slaps the pad against his knee. "Ain't much but it's a start."

Nick gawks. "Ain't much? He got you a goddamn description, man. That's more than most are doing." He swears and ashes his smoke, nerves frayed.

"You want me to give him a medal? He did his job and it's about time." I roll my eyes, Max's way of building you up and treating you like shit blur the lines.

"Christ, you're a prick, Max," Nick says.

"So what now?" I ask. "You think the cops will—"

"Who said anything about taking this to the cops?"

Uneasy, Nick and I meet eyes. I cross my arms against my chest. "Max," I say. "I thought we were gonna go to the cops."

"Not yet. Not yet when this is ours. Shit, we got this Curtis. This could be the goddamn story of the decade." He kicks his feet up on his desk, lifting the notepad high in the air. "Do you really want the cops to botch this up? Take away our case?"

I think about it. Giving the cops more information would mean they'd try to freeze us out every chance they got. If we got too close, they knew about it and didn't like it, they could eventually bar me from talking to Willy. Then again…if we withheld information that could have led to an arrest…

"Let's keep this between us," Max says, with a conspiratorial smile. "Let's keep it between us and let's keep on this." He pulls out cigars and offers them to the both of us. Nick and I wave them away. "I know you both got it in you. Let's just get a little more information and then we'll give it to them."

Max looks at me. "You up for that, Curtis?"

"Okay," I say slowly, uncomfortable with the idea, but still willing to hold onto this story. "Okay."

"I don't like this," Nick says, disgusted. "I don't like this at all."

OoO

_Body Found In Arkansas River_

_By P.M. Curtis_

_Tulsa police are investigating the death of a 17-year-old boy whose body was found underneath the 11__th__ Street Bridge, in the Arkansas River early yesterday morning. _

_Police and detectives were called shortly after 7 a.m., when remains were discovered washed up on the banks. The medical examiner's office identified the boy as Nelson Holly, 17, a junior from Nathan Hale High School. Holly was reported missing by his father Marvin Nelson after failing to come home from school._

"_The investigation is still very active and no arrests have been made or any motive known at this time," police spokesperson Diane Richard said. "It is possible this is the work of the Tulsa Terror but we cannot be sure until a full investigation is made." _

_Meanwhile, sources say…_

OoO

"What's this?" Darry asks. He drops the paper on my lap with today's article about Nelson Holly. "The story, Ponyboy," Darry says, when I set my book aside, confused. "There's nothing about the man on the bridge."

Darry and Soda pretty much know everything by now; about the package, the rubber leg, the description of the Tulsa Terror. And while they don't like it, they don't believe it, they're going to keep on my ass until I get out of this. Both of them are also probably about one step away from disowning me by now.

I rub the back of my head. My brother stands above me, a sentry on watch. "About that, Dar…"

"What'd the cops say when you told them?"

"We didn't tell them yet." I hurry on as Darry's face turns red. "Max wants to wait until there's some more information's found."

"Oh, so this is Max's bright idea?" Darry growls. "What is he thinking, hiding this from the cops? And you—what if they found out you were there? Do you have any idea how much trouble you'd be in, Ponyboy?"

"Listen, why does it matter? The cops didn't believe me last time with Donald Kelly, what makes you think they'd even believe me now? Besides, I didn't do anything wrong. I was just there."

"Coincidence, right?" Darry asks dryly. The same words I said to Sodapop the other night.

"Now you're thinking." I pinch the bridge of my nose as a frustrated Darry stares back at me.

OoO

"I want to know," Two-Bit says, slamming the back door, and stumbling inside carrying a beer, "Why in the _hell_ you didn't tell me about Miami."

Surprised, I look up from my notepad. Two-Bit Mathews reeks of tequila and beer, not a trace of a smile on his face. I frown, unsure what he wants. "I told you…I told you about the guy—"

"_Nooo_, not just some guy," Two-Bit practically groans. "_The mob, kid_. That's what I heard. That's what a goddamn little birdie told me."

_Christ, Steve._

He's staring. "Is that who's really after you? Who did that to your hand and to your back? And don't go giving me that song and dance about how it's better that I don't know and it's for my own good. Tell me, kid. We've been friends for a long goddamn time."

"Yeah. That's right."

He looks stunned. "The mob, Ponyboy? Jesus Christ on a cracker. They ain't still tryin to—"

"Kill me? I don't know, man." I cover my face and breath. "Maybe. Probably."

"What do you do if they come back?"

"There ain't much I can do."

He blinks. "Well, hell. We got to have a plan, kid."

"Planning's never been your strong suit, Two-Bit."

He smacks a hand on the table. "This isn't goddamn funny!"

I watch him carefully. While Two-Bit drinks a lot, more than most men, I've rarely seen him this upset; he can usually hold his alcohol. The last time I saw him like this his ma was in the hospital.

"So you're mad at me too? Great. This is just perfect."

I'm so sick of explaining my life to my friends and family. I know it's needed but sometimes I want to be left alone. I know the kind of decisions I'm making. They aren't always right but they're mine.

Somewhere in the house the door slams.

"Christ, I ain't mad at you kid!" Two-Bit shouts, splashing beer across the kitchen. "Although I am pretty goddamn pissed off at this one—" He points at Darry who's found us by now. "And your other one who seems to think this wasn't worth knowin' to me."

"Two-Bit," Darry says, already getting what the conversation is about, heaves his stack of books and plans onto the table. "We just thought it was best that no one else get involved—"

"I'm already involved," Two-Bit says to Darry. "The minute they stuck the blade in that kid's side I was involved. I'd do anything for this kid and you fucking know that."

His gray eyes flick to me and then back to my brother. "You should have told me. It would have made it easier to know what to look out for."

Darry sighs. "Two-Bit…"

"This is a bunch of horseshit, Darry." He waves a hand around the room. "All of it."

OoO

"Steve, you're an asshole."

"Hell, you came all the way down here to tell me that Ponyboy?" He pushes himself out from underneath a Dodge and grins. There're streaks of oil across his face, like he's a football player. "I'm touched."

"You told Two-Bit about Miami."

"I sure did," Steve says evenly. "It's only fair we all know, especially since your days are probably numbered. Shit, I don't even know why you're still alive right now. They the generous sort?"

"Knock it off," Soda snaps, coming out of the inventory bay. "Why'd you do that, Steve?"

"You should have told us," Steve says. "Even if the kid didn't, _you_ should have. We could've helped you out, Sodapop."

Soda has the same look on his face Darry had – embarrassment. While we all had our reasons, so do our friends. We've always been in everything together, good or bad, and to them, this is no exception. They've got loyalty coming out of their ears.

"You're right," Soda says. "I'm real sorry, man." Steve gives a single nod, accepting it and the issue is done.

"You're still an asshole," I tell Steve and he laughs.

OoO

_Don't worry. I swear they'll pull together soon. _

_Thank you for all the reads and reviews. Happy you are liking and that I'm not wearing you down yet. Haha._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	18. A Loop

A Loop

OoO

"Pone," Darry says appearing in my doorway. His face is white and for a minute I think he's sick. "There's someone at the door for you."

"Who is it?"

"I don't know…some kid…"

I follow him out. Bradley Miles is standing in the entrance of our living room. His right sleeve is rolled up to the elbow, and there's a thick wool cap on his head. He removes it, shaking the snow off. His brown hair sticks up in spikes.

"Hey, Curtis, sorry to just stop by like this—"

"No, no, it's okay…what's going on?"

His eyes move to Darry who's watching us from the hall. "Can I talk to you?"

"Yeah, sure…"

"That ain't your dad is it?" he asks as I lead him through the house to the back porch.

I laugh. "No, that's just Darry."

OoO

"My mom wants me to put some kind of…limb on it. Or something," Bradley Miles says, when he catches me checking out his arm. The disgust on his face is heavy.

"And you don't?"

"No way, man. I'll never do it."

"She's just trying to help," I say, lowering myself gently to sit on the stoop. I think of Darry and know he'd do the same.

"Yeah, well," Bradley Miles says with a sneer. "I'll never wear one of those. Be fake like that. Let some sick freak make me something I'm not."

Happy he still has his teenage stubbornness, I ask, "So why're you here, Brad?"

"I think I kinda remembered something about…about the Tulsa Terror…"

"You did? You go to the cops?"

He shakes his head. "I like you. I mean, the cops, they don't seem to know what they're doing."

"I don't think I'm any better."

Inside, I'm screaming. It's bad enough I'm investigating this, but now I got Bradley Miles coming to me with information. I keep getting pulled deeper and deeper. And I won't tell this kid no. I can't.

"Yeah, but even so…I trust you. I know you really want to find this asshole." He sits on the step and puts his hat back on. It's gusting wind, the grass in our backyard is dead, a thick coat of ice across the fence.

"There was this smell in the air…I'm not sure I remembered it until now but…" He shakes his head. "It was a dirty, dusty smell…but there was another. Like burnt…plastic, maybe? I don't know…I can't be sure but I think that's what it was."

"That's a good place to start."

He bows his head. "Do you have a cigarette?"

"I don't, sorry." Bradley Miles watches a stray piece of paper blow through our yard. "How're you doing?" I ask.

"My parents got me in therapy. Think it will help with the missing arm." he says with a laugh. "Some shrink talkin 'bout all my problems. Digging up the past like it was my fault."

"Oh hey," I say, thinking of Dr. Please and Cherry Hills. "It's not. Sometimes talking just helps…even though you might not know it yet."

He sighs. "And you know what's really bothering me? I keep thinkin'…I keep thinkin' about _why me_? Why was I the lucky one who lived and not Allen? How come _he_ died? It just don't make sense. None of it…"

I sit there, thinking about Johnny and Dal, and I decide to just tell the kid. To help him if I can. "Listen, I've been there. I have," I say when he looks at me doubtfully. "It was a long time ago but believe me I know what you're goin through…"

I go on to tell him about Johnny and Dallas Winston. About my friends, their deaths, and the age old guilt still lingering. The why them's? The why not me's?

Bradley Miles listens quietly, not saying a word, until I finally finish.

"It's not the same but I do know how you feel. I've been asking myself that same question for so many years sometimes I wonder if I'll ever stop. And I won't lie – you'll never forget but it does get better. Somehow…"

Quickly, Brad wipes his eyes and I look at the ground blinking fast.

"My mom…the new arm she wants me to get…she thinks it will help. But that's not what I really want."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm so damn sorry."

He smiles, his brown eyes warm, and stands. "You find this guy, Curtis."

"I will. But do me a favor and go to the cops."

Bradley Miles leaves me sitting out on the back porch until snow begins to fall.

OoO

"You should come in, Ponyboy," Darry says, opening the screen door. He helps me stand and then we go inside. There's a roast in the oven and I move toward it, getting some warmth from the big stove.

"That was one of the boys? The one who—"

"Yeah," I say. "The one they found on Thanksgiving." One thing I haven't told my brothers is that Nick and I were the ones who really found that kid. That's a conversation for another day.

"Bradley M—Darry?"

Darry has this awful expression on his face and I don't really know what to do with it when he finally chokes out, "Christ. That poor kid." I see the way it hits Darry; usually my oldest brother has all the answers and he doesn't know how to deal with this.

Sore, I lean my body forward on the counter, letting my stiff back loosen up. "I don't know what to tell him. He keeps comin' to me for answers and I sure as hell don't have any."

There's a hand on my back, Darry muscling out the kink, and he helps me straighten out. He holds onto me for a second before letting go. "Better, kiddo?" I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

For a strange second I think Darry's going to hug me, but then he just squeezes my arm instead. "You're doin' your best, Ponyboy. I know you are." He clears his throat, his eyes warmer than they've been in a while. "I'm going to go wash up," he says, "And then we'll have dinner."

I nod again and stay in the kitchen for a long, long time.

OoO

I go for a slow run, sweating out the anger.

If everyone could understand this would all be so much easier. But they're worried, angry, hurt. I think Darry came close the other day to understanding but he'd never admit it. I need to figure out how to make them see. It's hard doing this with my brothers not behind me. I need them; I need everyone but I know it's not fair to ask that of them.

I just don't want to fight anyone anymore. Not myself and not my brothers.

OoO

Marie offers a limp wave. She doesn't come over.

"She okay?" I ask Stubs.

"She's havin a hard time here," Stubs says. "Her voices are talking more and more so she's getting more and more of those shocks."

"That's shitty, man."

He offers me a smoke and when I say no, he says, "Clean living, these days?"

"As clean as I can get." I shift on the hard couch, watching as Stubs lights one up himself.

OoO

"Oh god. Oh my god."

Nick and I watch on TV as another photo of a boy is flashed across the screen, the name Jimmy Ellroy, 15-years-old and MISSING.

"What're you waitin' for?" Max barks, stomping into our office. "I pay you to sit around watching other people make the news? Get out there and get a story. And make it good."

This makes nine. Nine boys dead and counting.

OoO

It's near dusk when we get there, the Tulsa PD giving us withering glances as we hop out of Nick's truck and stride to the scene. Jimmy Ellroy's house is marked off with yellow police tape and bright flashing lights. We head to the backyard; a hot rod parked in the garage's driveway.

I see the rookie cop I get information from, Josh Collins, and call him over. Slowly, afraid of getting caught, he drifts our way.

"So what happened?"

"C'mon," Nick drawls when Collins keeps his mouth shut. "No one's watching. Give us something good. Hell, even his shoe size would be helpful."

"Kid was out workin' on his hot rod, ma called him to lunch and he never came in. Now normally we wouldn't even be here…but there's blood on the scene."

"How much?"

"Enough. Head wound probably."

Nick talks him up for a few more minutes as I survey the backyard. There's the hot rod Soda would love, the hood popped and lifted, a large puddle of red, one of the house numbers is crooked and hanging awkwardly.

Meandering, I gravitate toward the front of the house, stopping to pick up a nail in the middle of the dusty road. There's a little girl on the front porch crying.

"My brother?" she asks when she sees me. "Do you know where Jimmy is?"

"I don't, I'm sorry…" I go to the chain-length fence. "Honey, did you see anyone out here today?"

"Nuh uh," she says, sniffling. "Just my ma and the tall man in the sky."

I'm about to ask her what she means when she stands up and runs inside. Nick comes hoofing it around the side of the house. He grabs my arm.

"Let's get outta here before Tulsa PD hands us our asses."

OoO

After the interview and writing up the story, I get home at about eleven, exhausted. Between Max, the little girl on the porch and Bradley Miles, people keep asking me things I can't give.

I shower, go to my room, and open a book only to have the words all blur into bones and limbs. I slam it shut. There's a knock on my door.

"We saved you some dinner, if you want," Darry says, lingering in the doorway.

"I don't. Thanks though."

"Rough day?"

"Yeah." I kick my shoes off, and pull my legs up onto the bed. "I'm sure you saw the news."

"I did," Darry says in a hard-to-read tone. Ever since Bradley Miles came by he's been different. "You should get some sleep, Pony."

"I will. I just need to go over a few things…"

What I really need to go over are some questions for Willy. I need to see him again.

Darry doesn't like it but he doesn't say anything more. Just a, "Goodnight, kiddo" and then he's gone. I turn the bedside lamp on and settle in for a long evening.

OoO

Willy Wiese says the exact same thing as the little girl. The tall man in the sky. I start at this. "What does it mean?"

"Couldn't tell you. At least not right now, My Boy."

"I'm not really digging these riddles, man. And I don't really think we have time for them anyway." I hold up a hand. "And don't sing it, Willy. I swear to god I hate that song."

Instead, he just grins.

"You lookin' pretty peaked 'der, Ponyboy." He runs a hand over his bald head, chews his lip. "Family troubles?"

"You're not exactly the right person to help me solve those," I snort.

"I get 'da sense 'dey don't be lovin what you do."

"They don't believe me," I say. "I don't blame them but..."

"'Dey care. 'Dat's why."

"Yeah, I know."

"You livin your life, it don't come easy for 'dem."

I shift in the hard chair, uncomfortable at the dangerous territory we're treading. I don't want to talk about my brothers with Willy Wiese. I don't want him to even know their names.

"'Dey just scared you gone crazy. Like the last time but only for real 'dis time." Willy splays his gnarled hands across the table, the tattoos jumping. "Make 'dem believe and 'dey'll be with you…"

"I've tried. Tried so many times…"

"Jumpin' off bridges don't count, My Boy. You tell 'dem about 'demselves. Things 'dey only know. I tell you dat. I know so many things…"

In disbelief, I shake my head, clearing it. Picking out the things from the brains of my brothers seems just like adding fuel to the fire, not to mention it's downright dirty. "I can't do that. That's…that's wrong, Willy."

"Wrong or not. You need 'dem for this. 'Dey got to be with you for the long haul. It be better for everyone."

"I don't know. I don't think I can do that…"

"Look 'dere, you want 'em on your side or not…? You want 'em safe?" he asks and the blood leaves my face. The air leaves the room. Willy snakes a hand across the table and grips my wrist.

"'Den you listen and you tell 'dem da words from my mouth."

OoO

I get home from the oddest brainstorming session I've ever had. Normally, I'd never do anything like this but from what Willy's led me to believe I need to. And I don't know why I trust him but I do. He's been right so far.

I think about it. The secrets about my brothers.

I can't believe I'm going to do this. They're either going to hate me or commit me. I don't know what's worse.

OoO

I wait until the next time we're all together, which isn't long. A few days later, Soda's over borrowing some tools from Darry. I find them in the garage, clad in gloves and big jackets. The light's dim, casting a sickly-green glow across the place.

"Hey guys," I say. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Sure, Pone," Darry says. I don't miss the look that passes between him and Soda.

"What's goin' on, kiddo?" Soda asks, giving me an encouraging smile. He hasn't really said much to me since our blow up at his apartment, neither of us knowing how to act around the other.

Nervous, I curl my hands into fists, my left tingling, and then flex them open.

"Listen, you both ain't real happy with me right now and I get that. But I want you to know that I can do this. I'm going to do it. And I really want you two to stop fighting me every time I do something you don't like."

Soda sighs, says, "Ponyboy…"

"It just ain't some story."

"We know it isn't," Darry says, gentler than he's been lately. Bradley Miles probably having something to do with it. "But kid, you're too far in this. You can't fix everything."

"He's right, Darry. He knows. _He's psychic_."

"Goddamn it, Ponyboy," Darry swears, frustrated. "You can't be lucky your whole life. One of these days it's gonna catch up with you. You better wrap your head around that fast."

I take a breath and go for it. "Darry – in ninth grade you caught Dallas Winston shoplifting down at the Piggly Wiggly. He took a carton of Lucky's and a Snickers bar. But you didn't bust him. Instead you went out back and smoked a pack with him."

Confused, Soda looks at Darry. Darry's always prided himself in the fact that he's never touched a smoke in his life. Even in the faint light Darry's face is pale. Finally, in a low voice he says, "Dally could've told you that."

Darry doesn't say anything more so I continue. "After mom and dad died, when we were short on cash and before Soda started working on the DX, you pawned your football trophies."

Saying this, knowing this, hurts. Willy had relayed the vision and I had sat dumbfounded. I had noticed they were missing but Darry had told us he had put them away in storage.

"You went down to the Stop and Pawn, the one over on Miles Avenue, and they melted them into gold. They gave you ten bucks. You paid the water bill and bought milk. You bought me a book too."

I remember that book, just some cheap five cent paperback, it's still on my bookshelf and I'll never look at it the same way again.

Darry presses a hand against the work bench, steadying himself. "Jesus Christ." His broad shoulders slump. "What is this?"

I turn to Sodapop. "Last year, Steve wasn't driving your truck when it slammed into the barricade out on Euclid. You were. Only you told me and Darry that it was Steve. You didn't want us to worry that you were in a car accident like mom and dad."

Frowning, Darry looks at a gawking Sodapop. My brother's eyes are large and dark. Soda's an easy one.

"How did – how did you know that?" He turns to Darry. "Steve never would have told him. Never."

"_He_ told me," I say. "Willy Wiese."

"I don't believe this," Soda says, awed. He looks at our oldest brother. "Dar?"

Darry stands stiff. "I don't know what to do with this, Ponyboy," he says, his voice tight.

"You don't have to do anything," I say. "I just wanted you to know. I ain't crazy and I ain't gonna stop. Because I really can fix this. That's all, Dar. That's it."

No one says a word when I leave the garage.

OoO

Ten minutes later and they come and find me.

"I never thought I'd say this," Darry says, entering my bedroom, followed by Sodapop. "Not in a million years, but how in the hell does he do it?"

"Yeah, kiddo," Soda says. "That's some party trick."

"I have no idea. He just…sees things."

"Apparently a lot of things," Soda says with a light laugh.

"I don't mean to make you worry," I say. "I really don't. I just didn't want you to think I was freakin' out or goin crazy." I scratch the back of my head and give a grin. "Or something like that."

"No matter what you might have thought…" Darry says slowly. "We never thought you were crazy, Ponyboy."

He sits on the bed. Soda lounges against my desk. I can tell they've been talking and have come to a decision on what to say.

I chew a nail. "I know what they're sayin' around town. I never meant to give you a hard time."

"Pony," Soda says. "That ain't it."

Darry blinks. "We ain't mad or embarrassed, Ponyboy. We're just scared." He takes a breath. "But I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. You're gonna do what you want and we can't stop you, I get it."

I hold my hands out. "I can solve this. I just need you – I need you be here. I can't do it without you. Either of you."

Darry looks like the life's been sucked out of him. My older brother not used to such an admission.

"I know," he says. "And we'd rather have you here, doing what you do, instead of driving you away to do it somewhere else where we can't keep tabs on you."

"We'll stop hounding you," Soda says, moving to sit beside me. His face is soft, not a trace of the distress from our fight at his apartment. "If you promise to do something for us."

"Name it."

"If this guy, this Willy really is right, then you tell us what's goin' on, you got that? Whatever it is – if you go out snoopin' around or stay out past some god-awful time, you tell us, Ponyboy. Okay? Whatever it is, we want to know."

"Okay. You got it."

Darry says, "We're in it with you, you just keep us in the loop."

"I'll be careful, I promise." I grin, eager, like I just got the go ahead to knock off the Seven Eleven. "I can figure this out, I swear."

Soda and Darry share a look. "We know you can kiddo," Darry says, "and that's what worries us."

OoO

_Yay, they made nice!_

_Haha. Sorry I had to rip them apart for a bit._

_Pardon typos. Updates to come soon…please read and review…_

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	19. A Partner

_Disclaimers: Swearing, dark content matter…but you all know that by now don't you?_

A Partner

OoO

Two-Bit turns as I knock on the door of his office. He raises bushy brows and shelves a folder. "Come to see my humble abode?"

I shuffle in; hands in my pockets like I've learned from Darry. It's time to repair everything with everyone. Now that both my brothers are on board I need my friends too. If nothing else, I need to apologize.

"You're right, I should have told you." I drop into the chair in front of his desk. "I'm real sorry, Two-Bit."

"Kid…you didn't have to hide it," he begins slowly. "Hell, even if you had, I would've expected your brothers to at least let me in on it. I don't know why they wouldn't."

"They just didn't want you to get involved is all."

"Playing that card ain't fair and you know it."

Two-Bit's right. We've been through so much, all of us having each others' backs, so I get why it stings. I'd be pissed too.

"Don't be mad at Darry. This whole thing – it's my mess."

"Mess or not, you're still in it, ain't you?" Two-Bit asks. He moves to sit in the chair next to me.

I look at my hands. "Yeah. Yeah I am."

"Then that's all I need to know, kid. I'll be here."

Smiling soft, I tap his nameplate. "Goin' by Keith now out in the real world?"

He chuckles. "A serious name gets you serious money."

"I'll remember that if I get a real job."

"That's a pretty big _if_, Ponyboy Curtis. Even I know that." Two-Bit stands and pulls out his car keys. Gives me his familiar grin. "All this talk of work is making me thirsty. Want to cut out early and get a beer?"

OoO

February.

The cops are still looking for Jimmy Ellroy. Willy Wiese has nothing, and tries to draw me into long conversations about things I would rather not talk about. Darry and Soda are calm and it's a relief being able to come clean. All of us being on the same side finally.

OoO

Marie has fresh singes on her temples. The air around her smells electrical, burnt. The hair on my arm stands up. I sit on the faded couch, the lounge at Cherry Hills quiet. "They have to keep upping the current or else I keep hearing the voices." She reaches over to pat my leg. "Don't you worry none."

"Does Stubs know?"

"Oh goodness yes," she huffs. "Why do you think he never leaves?"

Her voice carries a sadness I catch. A nurse waddles by, charts stacked in her arms. I wait until she passes and then ask, "Marie…are you sure you're alright?"

"You've always been such a sweet kid. You stay that way got it?"

I blink. "I will but—"

Marie lets out a laugh but it doesn't reach her eyes. "No, no. No more about me. What about that story? What about that killer?"

I watch her close, confused.

OoO

"Who's the chick?" Nick asks as we round the corner, on our way to Soda's apartment to drop something off from Darry for Steve. I stop, watching as my brother exits with a brunette girl.

"I ain't got the slightest," I say.

Soda opens the passenger door on his truck, helps her in, and then bounces around to the driver's side. The brunette's laughing and so is Soda. He starts up his truck and then peels out down the street.

OoO

"Guess he works fast," Darry says, washing his coffee cup.

"Yeah but…I don't know…this was different. It was weird, Dar."

Darry laughs. "Oh, so you're an expert in relationships now?"

"Say…" I smile. "Speaking of relationships when are you and Liz going to…you know?"

He keeps a blank face. "You know, _what_?"

"Aw, c'mon, Dar. You gonna marry her one of these days?"

He shuts the water off and reaches for a towel to dry his cup. "I'm not getting married anytime soon, kiddo. It's just not the right time. You know that, Pony. I swear I'm a broken record by now."

Chuckling, Darry says, "'Sides why don't you worry about your own love life?"

I blush and cock an eyebrow. "Glory, Dar, so you're tellin' me you'll be an old man when you finally get hitched?"

He snaps the towel my way. "Older than you."

OoO

The next day, it comes through loud and clear on Nick's police scanner: the head and right hand of Jimmy Ellroy found five miles out of town. Nick punches the gas, rips the truck in the other direction and we're at the playground in less than ten minutes.

Nick's groan can be heard across the air. "Oh, fuck me."

OoO

The head's on a pole, propped up, a morbid scarecrow for the entire world to see. Blood drips and birds circle. News crews and cops fight for first access. Resisting the urge to retch, I stay in the truck until the scene clears.

OoO

Darry's gruff voice hits me as I'm walking inside. "Yeah, yeah…thanks a lot, George, I appreciate it…Probably this spring if we're lucky….All the permits came through and now we're just waiting to get set up…Working on a deal with the city….Sure thing…That'd be great, thanks for the recommendation….Yep. That's him…Yeah, my youngest one…He's the one writing the articles…"

There's a long silence and then, "You bet. I'm real proud of him…"

Drained, I shut the door with a soft click. I close my eyes, hearing Darry finish up the phone conversation.

"Hey kiddo," he says, coming in with a big smile. "I was just talking about—Pony, what is it?"

He's seen my face and it's probably about as white as I feel.

"They found that boy. It's all over the news." I shut my eyes for a brief moment before I say, "He's dead. His head was on a stick down at McGuire Park."

He moves closer. "Pony—"

"I'm goin' to bed," I say, stepping away. "I have to get up early and write the story or Max'll pitch a fit."

OoO

_HEAD FOUND AT MCGUIRE PARK by P.M. CURTIS_

_The head of 15-year-old James Ellroy was found at McGuire Park late yesterday around three p.m. Police Detectives describe the gruesome scene…_

_Police believe this is the work of Tulsa Serial Killer the Tulsa Terror as this fits his MO. The Tulsa Terror has been linked to nine deaths in town. Sources said investigators are trying to determine whether there are additional body parts in the area…_

OoO

"'Dey believers now My Boy, I see it in 'dose eyes of yours."

I crack a grin. "I can't believe they didn't toss my ass back in Cherry Hills."

"'Course 'dey believed you. 'Dey love you, don't 'dey?"

I swallow thickly. "Yeah. Yeah, they do."

We talk for maybe 15 more minutes until Willy Wiese breaks off and closes his eyes. He murmurs, "'Da next one is personal. 'Da next one will change the score."

A shiver runs over my spine. This is what I've been afraid of. This story of mine touching someone close. I ask, "It ain't Soda, is it? It ain't anyone I know is i—"

"Always lookin out for others. Such a kind boy. But no. You'll know it when you see it. Everyone will."

OoO

White body parts stack up. Long limbs and bones. They fall into dumpsters that fade and morph into an empty alleyway. I walk it, shouting for Nick, watching shadows dance off walls. The Rolling Stones sing. Nick's there. He mouths something. Holds up a white handkerchief.

The blade slips and I go down. I scream in the dark.

Nick's shouting and shouting and then everyone's gone.

OoO

The sheets are soaked in sweat when I wake up. The light flips on in the hallway. Darry pokes his head in. His hair is spiked in all directions. "I'm sorry," I groan. "I'm keeping you up."

Entering, he sits next to me on the bed. "Where's Soda when we need him?" I smile and Darry pushes hair away from my face. "Are the dreams bad?"

"Worse," I say. "Because this time I remember."

"What're you dreaming about?"

I rub my face. "Everything's mashing together…Miami, the bodies…I don't know what's what anymore."

"You can stop if it gets to be too much, you know that right?"

"When you'd get so understanding?" I say with a small smile. "Where's the old Darry?"

Darry raises a brow. "Kiddo, you don't know how much you've kicked my ass over the years."

OoO

"What do you think of these?" Liz slides some drawings across the table.

"Hey," I say, picking up a sketch. "These are great." There're about five drawings of a CURTIS CONSTRUCTION sign in different fonts and colors. A logo of some sort.

Liz is smiling bright and I cock my head, getting it. "Did you do this?"

"I did. I drew them up for Darry. You think he'll like them?"

"I think he'll love them." I look at her close. "I didn't know you were an artist, Liz."

Liz blushes, waving away my words. "Neither does Darry." She rolls up the sketches. "I'm going to surprise him with one when he gets closer to finishing. You'll have to help me pick."

"Sure I will," I say. "But I don't think you can go wrong."

"Thanks, Ponyboy." She grabs my hand. "But not for this. For whatever you said to Darry. However you did it, you helped him."

Abashed, I scratch the back of my head. "Liz, I didn't—"

"But you did. You just don't see it yet."

OoO

"Curtis," Nick says. "The cops found another one."

"Aw, shit," I swear, crossing our small office to turn on the TV.

"It ain't on the news," Nick says, face pale.

I whip around. "It's that bad?"

"Worse." He shuts the door. "Curtis…" Sick, remembering Willy's words, I sink into the chair. This is it.

"It happened at your old high school," Nick says. "On the track…and this time…"

"Nick. Out with it."

"He was a runner from your class, Curtis."

"My class?" the buzz begins, pulling me back into the past. "So that would mean…"

"The bastard changed his MO," Nick swears and slaps down some files. "The kid, a Bryan Baker, is—was 20. A runner from Will Rogers High School."

OoO

The legs. They're splayed across the red dirt of the very track I've been practicing on. The left with its shoe still on, pointed to the east; the right, flopped over, heel facing the sky. It looks like a mannequin exploded across the track.

It's late in the afternoon and the air is cold. White puffs of air float around the mouths of the cops as they photograph and investigate the scene. More detectives comb the bleachers; a crew of medical examiners begin pulling tools out of their bags.

"Anything good?" I ask as Nick walks back over, finished questioning our inside guy – the young cop Joseph Collins.

He flips the notepad over. Hands me a photo of a rusty haired, green-eyed boy. "Bryan Baker. Ran varsity. Kinda looks like you." Nick squints. "You remember him?"

"No." I kick at a rock, sending it across the dirt lot. I grip the fence, watching the scene. The red clay of the track is even darker, soaked in blood. "I don't."

"You okay?" Nick asks.

I don't say anything and Nick keeps talking.

"So, you think this is it, Curtis? What Willy was talking about?"

"Probably. He's trying to mess with us now…" My old high school, a runner, my exact age, it's not a coincidence.

"Guess you two'll have to stay out of each others' way." I give him a look. Nick says, "So this changes his MO now. He's starting to leave the…the limbs out in the open. And the age…"

"He's going older," I murmur. "Unless it was a onetime thing…"

"Guess we'll see."

"We should go to the cops," I say, turning around and handing Nick the photo. "We should give them his description." I shake my head. "It ain't right, keeping what we know. More kids are going to die and it's gonna be on us."

Grim, Nick only nods.

A news van arrives, the back doors flapping open, cameras being dragged out. A reporter readies her microphone and the buzz in my head sounds like a live electrical wire snapping.

OoO

"You're that kid, ain't ya?" The detective says when I finish giving him the description of the Tulsa Terror. "The reporter working with that psychic."

I give a grunt. I didn't exactly tell the cop about the whole bridge story, instead deciding to tell him it was a hunch of Willy Wiese. I may not have done anything wrong out on that bridge but I don't exactly want to get hauled in to answer more questions.

"You, uh, didn't bother writing anything down," Nick says. "You know, notes? Helpful information to solve cases?"

The detective spits tobacco on the ground, wipes his mouth. "Kid, if we bought that fucking story we'd be the laughingstocks of this town." He grins. "So thanks for doing that for us."

Inside, my guts burn. "Look, it's strange, I get it. But don't you think you should at least look into it a—"

"Don't you tell us what we should be looking into you little shitbird," the detective snaps. "You just stick to writing your little stories and leave the tough work to actual cops. Chasing psychics ain't in our job description."

He thumps a finger against my chest and walks off.

"That went well," Nick says.

OoO

"You did what?" Max yells.

"Relax, you're off the hook," I say dryly. "They didn't believe us anyway."

"I coulda told you that Curtis." He dangles fingers by his temple.

I throw my pencil at him. "Oh, so you're psychic too now? Fuckin' great."

Nick barks out a laugh and starts passing out sandwiches he's picked up at the corner store. It's gonna be another long night. I check the clock on the wall; I need to call Darry.

"Keep your mouth shut and write your story," Max says. "Focus. You don't work for the Tulsa PD. You work for me."

"Yeah, you keep reminding me about that."

"You know," Max says, "You tellin' them could actually work out real well for us, Curtis. When we crack the story, they'll be the idiots."

"Jesus Christ," Nick moans when Max leaves. "The whole town's laughing at us, ain't they?"

OoO

"Ponyboy?" Darry asks when he picks up the phone.

"I'm gonna be late."

He sighs. "I thought so. I saw the news. I don't like it – it's you isn't it? The kid?"

"I think so."

"Goddamn it," Darry swears. "This is what I was afraid of."

"I know, Dar. If it makes you feel any better I told the cops what he looks like."

"That's real g—"

"They didn't believe it. Basically told me to go take a flying leap."

"What're you gonna do?"

"Keep writing. See what else Willy has to say."

"I want you home by midnight. I don't want you out running around. Especially not now."

"Darry—"

"_Try_," Darry growls. "Try real hard, Ponyboy."

He hangs up, the dial tone buzzing in my ear.

OoO

_LIMBS FOUND AT WILL ROGERS by P.M. CURTIS_

_The legs of a young man, identified as Bryan Baker, have been found on the track and field grounds of Will Rogers High School. Baker was last seen at his place of employment, the Lamplighter Lounge, sometime around midnight on Tuesday morning. _

_Police are still seeking answers in the Tulsa Butcher Case and according to unnamed sources still have no concrete leads… _

OoO

Steve and Darry are at the kitchen table when I get up the next morning.

"Well, look who made it home in one piece."

I give Steve the finger as Darry's blue eyes ask if I'm okay. I give him a tight smile.

Copies of the _Tulsa World_ are spread out, along with some of Darry's work files. I take in the folders and the personal information strewn out and it strikes me as funny that Steve's here. Has been, in fact, every time Darry's doing something work-related.

"Glory, you ain't trying to poach, Steve, are you, Dar?" I joke and pour myself a cup of coffee. I'm met with silence and when I turn around Darry's red. In fact, they both look guilty. "Jesus," I say, shocked as it really dawns. I press back against the counter and stare. "You are, aren't you?"

Darry says, "Ponyboy…"

"Does Soda know?"

"Not yet," Steve says. For once, he doesn't have a quick comeback. He just looks incredibly sorry.

"Steve's actually a partner, Ponyboy," Darry mumbles.

"A what?"

"I put in some cash, kid," Steve explains. "I'm gonna work the business with Superman, here. We were waiting until the bank came through before we told anyone…"

"Whoa, _what_?"

It's a lot to take in. Not only is Steve leaving the DX but he and my oldest brother are going to own a business. Together. Being the last to find out is like being the last one to get picked for a team, especially when Darry gives Soda and I more than enough grief for keeping secrets of our own.

"Does Liz know?" I ask Darry.

"Liz knows."

I frown. "But not us, right?"

"Ponyboy—"

In disbelief, I dump my coffee in the sink, not ready for any excuses. I leave the house before they can say anything else.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Reviews are always lovely and happily appreciated._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	20. A Suit

_Last update before the holidays. _

A Suit

OoO

To clear my head I drive up to McAlester.

OoO

"Whooo, lookie dat long face of yours, My Boy." Willy giggles. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

I shouldn't but I tell him. Tell him about the cops, about my brother, about Bryan Baker. Willy sits very still, listening. Somewhere there is a low pinging; water dripping on a pipe. "So yeah," I say, finishing with a long exhale. "All of _that_ is what's got me."

"Sounds like a mighty fine mess."

"When the hell is this guy gonna get caught? Who's doin' it? When're the cops gonna fix this?"

"I can't give you 'dose answers."

"The next one—"

"Don't know."

"Yeah, well, if you ever see anything and I ain't here, you call me Willy. And you call me fast." I want the next kid; I want to find him before the Terror does. "You have my number."

Grinning big, he says, "I just may be doin' 'dat, My Boy." Willy holds up a finger as I stand, preparing to go. "But I got something else for you. Not related to all dis mess."

"What's that?"

"Watch out for the man in the suit."

I stick the pencil above my ear. "There's always a man in a suit."

OoO

I go to the diner on Main Street, trying to catch up on secondary stories I've been putting off. There's one about a gas leak in the courthouse and another about rising costs of living. Both seem pretty boring, but I settle for ordering a Coke and plowing through them. My brain needs a rest. Every now and then my mind wanders to Willy's words but I manage to keep focused.

I'm sitting at the counter when the stool beside me squeaks.

"Not now, Steve."

"You're a hard little fucker to track down, you know that, kid?"

"Yeah, so I've been told." I set the pencil down. "What do you want?"

"I want to explain," he says. "I know you're pissed and you got every right to be—"

"I ain't mad, Steve." He raises a brow and I continue. "I'm just confused. Hell, Darry should be the one explainin' things. When're you going to tell, Soda?"

"Soon." He splays his oil-stained fingers across the countertop. "We just got the permit a couple months back. And then you went and got your fucking hand smashed."

"Right. Thanks."

He swears at himself. "I didn't mean it like that, Ponyboy. There's just…there's just too much goin' on right now. And it ain't an excuse…it's just a reason."

I sit back and scrutinize Steve Randle. His shaggy black hair, his dark eyes. He looks the same as always, just leaner and older. The guy I've known pretty much my entire life, Soda's best friend, is now Darry's business partner. It's a weird combination.

"So why're you doin' this? You bored at the DX?"

"Nah. That ain't it." He laughs. "It wasn't even something I was lookin' to do at first. But then Superman was talking about taking out some loans and I started thinking about what he was doing. I mean, I ain't ever owned anything for myself, you know?"

He drums his hands against the counter. I shake my head as the waitress asks if I want a refill. Steve says, "So I checked into it and it seemed like a good idea. Darry was on board with it. Now he don't have all the risk and hell, now I'm doin' something with my life."

"Never figured you for high ambitions, Steve."

"I never figured myself for it either, kid."

I laugh.

"Christ," Steve snorts. "You've dropped out of college three times and I'm a business owner. Alert the press."

I prop my chin in my hand. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

"Shit, kid, that goes double for me."

"You gotta tell Soda." I start scraping up my papers. Secrets keep landing on my lap and I sure as shit don't know what to do with them. "Soon, Steve."

"Soon, kid. I will."

OoO

"You could have told me you know."

"I should have," Darry says, setting his bag on the table, his expression cowed. "I'm sorry, Pony. Hell, I was so nervous—I didn't know how to even start."

I raise a brow. "You nervous, huh?"

"Believe it or not…yeah," He chuckles. "Did Steve find you?"

"Sure did." I go back to stirring the soup. "It's cool what you guys are doing. I get it. But you should've told us, Dar."

"I know. I been hounding you this whole time to be honest…and I go and do the exact same thing. I really am sorry, kiddo," he says, offering a rare Darry apology. "I didn't want to lie to you but that's just what I did."

"When are you going to tell Soda?"

"I'll tell, Soda. I'll talk to him soon. I promise." Bypassing me, he squeezes my arm and then sits down at the table. Darry massages his temples. "You do anything interesting today?"

"I went and saw Willy if you count that as interesting."

Darry, taking off his wristwatch, asks, "He say anything?"

"Not really." I drop the spoon in the soup and watch it sink. "At least I don't think so."

OoO

Liz and Darry are on their way out when I walk in. They're dressed up and that's when I realize it's Valentine's Day.

"Oh," Liz says, buttoning her jacket. "A girl called for you, Pony. Think it was one of your friends from Cherry Hills."

"Okay," I say. "Thanks."

"Maybe it's Flora," Liz says, trying not to smile.

"Oh, Jesus," Darry says, rolling his eyes. "Don't encourage him."

"You can both shut up." I laugh, feeling my ears burn.

"The one girl you like and she's locked up at Cherry Hills." Darry shrugs his coat on. "I wonder about you, Ponyboy. I really do."

OoO

A day later, the guy in the suit shows up.

Soda and I are downtown, running an errand for Darry. We're putting a deposit on some rental equipment from True Value, and because he's Soda he's trying to sweet talk some sort of discount out of the pretty clerk at the front desk. Tired of their flirting, I go wait outside, leaning back against brick wall of the store.

The guy's unfamiliar but he walks up to me like I should know him. He's in a dark suit, greased back hair and wingtip shoes. The gold chain gives him away. The world push-pulls, and I focus on the man. There's not a Cadillac in sight but I get what's coming.

Before I can decide what to do – run, yell – his hand darts out and grips my side. Pain flares, I suck in a gasp but manage to stand straight before my legs can buckle. "You don't know me but I know who you are. And believe me, I'm a good person to know." He squeezes, the scars across my side flaring. He keeps his voice friendly.

"Rosie just wanted to send a little reminder that she's still around. You ain't got her grace yet. We're watchin you. Watchin your friend. You got a nice family there, Mikey. Be a shame if something happened to 'em."

My heart hammers. I whisper, "Whatever you want, I'll do it. Just leave them out of this."

"You know…I'm thinking we will. We've been watchin you and the way they act – you're the real prize. The real way to hurt someone."

He waits as a couple walks by, inconspicuously holding me up; all we are is two people talking on a street corner. When they pass he lets go, and I grip the wall to hold myself up. Spots swirl in my vision. The man's hand retreats only to come up to flip out a switchblade.

"Remind you of something?" He rests it against my cheek when I say nothing. "You need a closer look?"

"Hey, Pone, you out here?" Chimes jingle as Soda shoves the door open. "I managed to talk her into ten bucks off a—"

He slows his footing, seeing the man. Seeing the knife.

"What's goin' on, man?"

"I was just havin a chat with your baby brother."

The man points the knife at Soda and this time Soda stops. His fists ball, his brown eyes wide and angry. I try not to look at my brother, any fear in my eyes would just fuel his worry; instead I keep my gaze on the man in front of me.

"You better watch out for him," the man says easily. "I mean, one day you could come home to find this boy in your basement, face down on the pavement and you wouldn't be able to do a thing about it."

"Ain't that right, Mikey?" There's the flip of the blade as he puts it away. He slaps my face lightly, says, "Talk to you later," and disappears around the corner.

Soda rushes over. "He hurt you?" he asks, grabbing my arm as I sink to the ground; the scars on my side throbbing. I place palms on the cool, steady cement and breathe.

OoO

We're at home, Soda sitting on the couch next to me, talking low, talking steady, when Darry barrels through the front door. He does a double take at the two of us, raises his hand, which is holding an envelope and slams the door shut.

"You're here. You're both here," he says, looking stunned, thankful.

Soda and I glance at each other and then Darry's face turns dark. Instantly, he asks, "What happened?" and I marvel at his instinct.

Soda relays our trip downtown, the threat made, and Darry turns a shade paler. He looks at me when Soda's done. "Was it them?"

"Yeah, it was them."

"Then this was too." Darry tosses the folder across Soda's lap. Soda opens it and his eyes go wide.

OoO

Darry found the folder tucked under the windshield wipers of his truck as he was leaving work. The folder contains photos of me and Soda. There're some of Sodapop walking to his car in front of his apartment building, some of me coming out of the Tulsa World. In them, I see the mistake. They think Soda's me. We look so much alike it's uncanny.

"You two be careful," Darry warns but his voice sounds strained. It can't be easy knowing both of his brothers are targets. "I want you home and I want you safe, you got that?"

I close my eyes, feeling like an idiot. "Willy warned me," I say. "I didn't know it was this—I didn't listen."

Darry's speechless. "What'd he say?" Soda asks for him.

"He just mentioned a guy in a suit. That was it. But I didn't know—I didn't think it was this."

Soda sits forward, eyes flashing. "You go back. You go back and ask him where these assholes are."

Darry shakes his head. "Soda, no." He's having a hard enough time with this as it is, let alone Soda's need for retaliation. Darry looks at me.

"Pony, if he says anything else about these men – you tell us, you got that. Anything, no matter how small, I want to know about it." He crumples the folder and the pictures up.

The worry's on the tip of my tongue. It's morbid to ask but I have to. I'd rather just take the blindfold off and see what's coming. Because as much as we keep pretending it won't happen, it seems as if it's getting awful close.

"They're still here…and they keep trying…" My voice sounds hollow. "Dar…what if they really get—"

"Never," Darry says, meeting my eyes. "Never."

OoO

Frantic knocking on the front door.

"I've been trying to call you," I sigh, opening it and seeing Nick. "I need to talk to y—"

"I got this in the mail," he interrupts.

"So?" I say, shrugging. In his hand is a small box of matches.

His voice is dead. "Curtis. The address."

"Shit," I swear when I see it. The address on the book of matches reads: _The Casablanca, Miami Beach, Florida_. The alley behind the nightclub where everything happened. Where I was stabbed. Where Nick—

"But you already know," Nick says, taking in my lack of surprise. I look at my friend and he's white. He starts backing up on the porch. "You know they're still here."

"That's what I've been trying to talk to you about…" I step outside. "There was a guy…yesterday…he found me and Soda and he made some threats. I think he's with Rosie though," I add quickly. "If they wanted to do it they would have by now."

"Then what's _this_ about?"

I stare at the box of matches. "I don't know."

He whispers, "They're still gonna get us."

"They ain't. Nick, they won't."

"They will." He bolts from the porch.

I swear and chase him into the street. He fumbles for his car keys, his face screwed up. Nick's so close to cracking I don't know how I could have missed it. Coming unhinged over something I've told him over and over again doesn't matter.

"I can't do this anymore," he says. "I can't do it. This waiting, looking over my shoulder…they should just fucking kill me already and get it over with."

"Don't say that, Nick. Listen, you'll be okay—"

"But what about you?" he yells. "What about you?"

"You gotta calm down, man. Don't worry about me, don't—"

"Why? Because I wouldn't help you out anyway? Is that it?" Nick looks close to crying now. "Is that why you don't trust me? Why you don't tell me where you're running off to when you chase a lead? Man, believe me, I'd trade places, I'd give anything if it would have been me that ni—"

"Nick, Jesus…" I hold a hand out, uneasy about standing in the middle of the road in plain sight. "You gotta cool it, okay? I trust you as much as anyone…"

"Well, you shouldn't, Curtis. You really fucking shouldn't."

After a long beat, Nick climbs into his car and speeds off down the street, a smoke cloud of exhaust filling the air. Back giving a tweak, I dip low, squeezing my eyes shut.

OoO

Caught up in this new distraction of trying to keep a steady watch on the two of us, Darry doesn't tell Soda about his partnership with Steve, which is fine. No one needs anything else to worry about right now. It'll come out when it's ready. I'm tending to believe that more and more lately.

Nick won't return my phone calls. His car isn't at his apartment. I'm worried but don't know what to do.

Darry gets Liz to leave town for a few days. Soda's all but moved back in by now.

The house is full and busy and on constant guard.

OoO

"Nothing?"

"Nothing more 'bout dat matter," Willy says. "No more suits."

"Ever?"

"For now."

It's something I'm resigned to; this thing with Vinny Trafficante. It'd be a whole hell of a lot easier if I didn't have my family and friends to worry about. Nick was right; the waiting is the worst part. Whether she wants to send a message or just mess with us, Rosie sure is making a mess of things.

Willy squints. "I want to meet the one who looks like you."

"Who? Soda?"

"That one. 'Cept he's got lighter hair…" He closes his eyes. "He's handsome, thinner than the oldest one, but bigger than you. You always wanted to look like him."

"I still don't see it."

Willy's eyeing me. "You're the only one who don't." He stretches his arms, black fingernails jutting out. "Some things come easier to others, My Boy."

OoO

I'm finishing up an article, scribbling the last sentence when there's a quick rap on the wall. Two-Bit's lingering in the doorframe, his heavy jacket and gloves still on.

"Hey, man," I say, setting my pen down.

"Hey, kid. You busy?"

"Nah, just got done with something for work."

Two-Bit sticks his hands in his pockets. "Then let's take a drive."

OoO

"What you in the mood for?" Two-Bit asks. "A blizzard? A shake or maybe even a dilly bar?"

We pull into the drive-in of a Dairy Queen. I fix my friend with a look. He'd been acting strange back at the house but now Two-Bit's joking and hasn't mentioned the reason for the drive.

"What's goin on? You're acting weird."

"_I'm_ acting weird? You're the one turning your nose up at ice cream in the dead of winter, Ponyboy Curtis."

Two-Bit cranks his window down and shouts an order to the machine. The voice gives us the cost and then cuts off. He pulls forward and stops, stuck in the middle of the line. Hot heat blows in through the vents.

Two-Bit turns to me. "I heard from Superman about them showing up again."

"What can I say? Just popular I guess." I wince at the nasty look he gives me. "Sorry."

Two-Bit clears his throat and says, "You got to be smart, kid. And by that I don't mean a smart ass either."

"I don't know what you want me to say, man. They're either gonna get me or they'll go away."

"I ain't a fan of that excuse, Ponyboy."

"Yeah, well, me either." I prop an elbow against the window.

The line barely moves. Two-Bit inches forward, then says, "You still got that blade I gave you?"

"'Course I do."

"Then I want you to take it and put it in your pocket. And even though I know you're liable to stick yourself before you go sticking someone else I want you to keep it on you. Carry it every damn day."

Gently, he rolls the truck forward as the line moves again.

"I ain't your big brothers and I got no right telling you this, but goddamnit Ponyboy, you fucking use it if you have to."

I go to tell him he's wrong, that he has as much as a right as anyone, but then Two-Bit's handing me an ice cream cone, and paying the clerk.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thanks for all the reads and reviews this year. More to come in 2013._

_Happy Holidays._

_Feisty_


	21. A Mess

_Okay, I'm back. Here we go!_

A Mess

OoO

Two coffees and a bag of donuts later, I settle into a small booth at the donut shop. I check the clock on the wall. I'm supposed to be meeting someone from the Tulsa County Parks Department about the recent expansion of Lake Elmo to run in the Sunday Edition of the _Tulsa World_.

I scribble a few questions to ask the guy on a napkin and check the clock again. My contact's late. Finally deciding to give up and head back to work, I slide out of the booth only to hear a woman's voice say, "Sodapop, you lousy son-of-a-bitch."

OoO

"Oh my word, Ponyboy…" Sandy presses a hand to her heart. "I'm sorry – I thought you were that brother of yours."

"He ain't here, Sandy." Up close, Sandy still has that porcelain skin and china blue eyes. But her face is harder somehow, angrier.

"What're you doin' back in town?" I ask, hitching a thumb through my belt loop.

"My ma's sick," she says, crossing her arm, the big ring on her left hand glinting. "Helpin' take care of her for a time."

"You still livin in Florida?"

"I am. Last I heard, you just got back from there. Word around town is you were sick or something."

"I ain't sick, Sandy."

Her blue eyes go cold and narrow. "You know, Ponyboy Curtis, you don't look surprised to see me."

"Soda told me. He told me what you two were doin'."

"Oh he did, did he? And what exactly was that?"

It's when she starts crying that I'm beginning to wish I never ran into her.

OoO

"He's the one who found me. Looked me up a few months back. And when he came around, it was just like old times. I wanted it to be old times."

She twists the ring on her finger and takes it off, setting it between us on the table. The rock's so big it could sink a boat and I wonder about the man who put it on her finger. I glance over my shoulder, ready to get the hell out of the donut shop, but Sandy keeps talking.

"I thought it could have been. I was gonna divorce Richie. Marry Sodapop. It would have been so perfect."

She sits back defensively when I raise an eyebrow. "It wasn't me. Soda said he was goin to marry me. Take me away from that asshole I'm married to…" Sandy laughs dryly. "And I believed him."

I don't know what I'm hearing. I stare at her.

"He came to _me_, Ponyboy," Sandy whispers. "He did it on purpose. I know he did. Just so he could mess with me. Kept telling me that he loved me and then one night he just breaks it off. Tells me it's done. Over with like that."

She snaps her fingers, long nails clicking together. "Soda's no better than I was," Sandy spits. "He knew what he was doin'. Hell, he was smiling when he did it."

It all makes sense now. Soda gave Sandy what she deserved. Probably what he's wanted to do ever since she left him. But why he'd ever start up again with her boggles my mind.

Sandy puts her ring back on. "I don't suppose you think it could still work, do you? Between him and me?" Her voice carries heavy desperation. Disgust flickers deep in my stomach.

"Sandy," I say, easing out of the booth to stand. "It's over. Soda wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole. He never should have."

Surprise flits across her face, and then anger. She picks up a shaker full of sugar. Moving fast, I get out of the donut shop right before it cracks the glass of the front door.

OoO

Heading down the street, I pass a Sears where there's a crowd of people gathered in front of the storefront window watching the TVs being advertised. An excited gasp goes up and I stop.

TULSA TERROR CAUGHT is the scrolling headline at the bottom of the news broadcast. My jaw drops. Shoving bystanders out of the way, I move closer for a better look.

Reporters are mutely talking, a video showing two cops bringing a handcuffed black man out of the back of a police car. "Praise Jesus," a voice in the crowd shouts and murmured agreement sounds.

Horrified, I press a hand against the glass window. It's not the guy. It's not him.

OoO

Max's secretary Marjorie presses five pieces of crumpled paper in my hand. "You've got messages, Pony."

I shove the scraps in my pocket, knowing they're from my brothers, and push through the crowd of journalists. Phones are ringing off the hook, people shouting over the din. It's a mad house.

"Why're you here?" Max barks when I find him in his office. "You should be at the scene."

"You saw that," I snap. "There's no story. They got the wrong guy, Max."

"The tiniest violin in the world doesn't give a shit, Curtis. Go down there and get some dirt. Save it up for later, when you can make a mountain out of it."

"You're talking out of your ass, man."

"Get out of here, Curtis!"

I duck as he throws a paperweight off his desk. It shatters one of the pictures on the wall behind me. "And tell that partner of yours—Nick—that if he doesn't show up for work tomorrow, he's out of a job."

"You're crazy." I exit his office, leaving his ranting and raving behind. My heart pounds in my chest, the buzz whirring in my brain as I take the stairs and slam out the back exit of the Tulsa World.

"Shit," I say, on edge. "_Shit_."

OoO

"They caught him," Soda says as I walk through the front door four hours later. "So why don't you look happy?"

"It's not him," I say, dropping onto the couch. I rub my face. I've been yelled at more times than I can count today. By the cops when I went down to the scene. By Sandy. Max. Not to mention I've had more random objects hurled at my head. I slap a notepad full of notes on the coffee table.

"It's not the guy I saw."

"Are you sure, Pone?" Soda asks, sitting down, and I see it in his eyes how badly he wants this done with. "I mean, it was dark, maybe he…"

"It was a white guy, Soda. Older. Not a poor black kid from Laramie."

"If it happens again though," Soda says, "They'll know then, right? That they got the wrong guy?"

"Yeah. But for now, all of Tulsa thinks it's safe and sound."

Soda and I turn our faces to the TV where people at the courthouse are hugging and clapping as an enthusiastic-looking reporter says that The Tulsa Terror, now identified as Wayne Johnson Jr., has been caught and is in police custody.

OoO

"Try to smile, Pone," Darry says, setting a bowl of chili in front of me. "People are gonna start talking if you look pissed off that the Tulsa Terror just got caught."

I scowl. "God, this has been the worst day."

"You should eat something, kiddo." Darry sits down. "Just wait it out. Something will happen."

"I know. I know it will," I say, shifting hard in the chair. "I just don't understand how god damn—"

I squeeze my eyes shut as my back cramps up. "Aw, shit." I stretch out and breathe through the needling pain. "I'm okay," I say as a hand touches my back, pressing into the hurt. I crack an eye open. "I'm fine, Dar."

"You're doin' too much, Pone," Darry says, standing over me. "Runnin' yourself ragged over all of this."

"It'll be over soon."

"I sure as hell hope so."

He's right; I can't keep track of half the things I'm doing. Nick's gonna lose his job. I'm looking for Cadillac's on every corner. My story just died in my hands and my back's giving me grief. It's all a mess.

"You hear from Nick?"

I shake my head. "He won't call me back. I'm getting worried. You don't think something happened to him, do you?"

"I'm sure he's okay," Darry says. "But I'll drive by there tomorrow after work to check on him."

I mutter a thanks and Darry sits back down, his eyes sunken. He's tired. Probably about as tired as I am. And though I don't want to add anymore to his plate, I say, "I ran into Sandy today."

When I tell him what happened at the donut shop, Darry starts shaking his head. "That was a rotten thing to do, even for Sodapop." His face is furious. "What the hell is he doing these days?"

"Darry," I say, ready to fall asleep in my bowl of chili. "I don't think any of us know what we're doing."

OoO

A lull falls over the next week. It's so calm I'm beginning to think the cops really did catch the Tulsa Terror. There've been no more deaths. Nick doesn't call. I drive by his apartment but he's either not there or doesn't answer.

For once work slows and Max stops yelling. I catch up on old stories, start and finish new ones.

I try to run but I can't go back to the track after what was found there. Instead I stick to the back roads. I'm slow and crippled but not as bad as I used to be. But I'm not there yet.

I miss two phone calls from Cherry Hills. When I finally remember to call Flora or Stubs or Marie back I end up getting distracted and don't.

It's almost too calm. And so, bored, I drive up to the Oklahoma State Penn.

OoO

"He be back. End of next week, mark my words."

"That wasn't long."

"He misses the attention."

I shake my head, smiling. "The cops are gonna look like such idiots."

"My, my, My Boy…"

"I know," I say, slightly embarrassed at gloating, yet unable to help myself. The cops blew Nick and I off, kids died, and now we're right and they're wrong. I chew the end of my pencil.

"I get 'da sense you have a question for me, Ponyboy?"

I hesitate. It's personal. It feels wrong. Willy gestures, his smile mischievous. "Don't be shy. Ask. I may tell."

"Well…those dark people you mentioned before…do you…do you see anything? About them and me?"

Willy closes his eyes. Twitches. He opens them and his face is grave. "Not 'dat. Not yet. But…you goan be hit hard. Travails and such."

This time I close my eyes. "My brothers…"

"'Dey be safe." Willy cocks his head. "'Dere's something brewing. I'll get you what you want. I can just 'bout see it."

The room of the jail is cold.

OoO

Brad's already on the porch waiting for me. Eager, he holds the door open, saying, "The cops are way off, Curtis," as I enter.

Somewhere along the way, out of all of this, at least Bradley Miles happened. And even though the kid calls me before the cops and trusts me with things he doesn't tell anyone else, I really don't mind. If I can help him, I will. I pray to god we find more boys alive though. Because to be the only one who lived at the end of this is going to be a heavy burden Bradley Miles will have to carry his whole life.

I open my mouth ready to launch into it when a voice asks, "Is it true?" A short woman with red hair bustles out of the kitchen. She fluffs her apron. "What my Bradley says? They got the wrong man?"

"We're looking into it…Mrs. Miles?"

She takes my hand and beams, nodding. "You must be Ponyboy. My, oh, my, I am so very pleased to meet you. Thank you for being there for my son."

"Ma'am, it's no pro—"

"I'll get us drinks," she says abruptly and flounces away.

When she's gone I turn to Brad and hiss, "What're you doin' tellin her that?"

"Sorry," he says. "She knows you're the only one who can help me." He grins, his young face happy in an instant. "She likes you already."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Ah, man. Great."

OoO

"Tulsa World, this is—"

I listen to the frenzied voice on the other end of the phone, my eyes getting bigger and bigger. I scribble an address on a piece of paper. "Hold on, hold on….Listen, don't worry. I'll be right there? Okay? I'm coming…"

Slamming the receiver down, I rush out of the small office.

Max shouts across the room, "Curtis, you got deadlines!"

Ignoring him, I run down the hall.

OoO

The Ranchero zips up onto the curb and I hop out. I recognize the group clustered around the sign that reads PALMER PARK PICNIC AREA. All of them are there – except Liz who's visiting her parents on Darry's orders. Karen's crying, a blanket clutched in her arms.

Two-Bit meets me halfway there. He looks winded and scared. "Thanks for comin', kid." He tugs me in the direction of my brothers.

"Of course. What happened?"

"Fucking Karen," Two-Bit swears, slowing down. "She wasn't watching him and Hank just goddamned walked off. Or I bet that asshole ex of hers came down and grabbed him."

"Shit, man, I'm sorry." I stare off at the sloping hills of the picnic area that lead into the woods. "Tell me what I can do, how I can help?"

Two-Bit forces a smile. "You're already doin' it, kid."

OoO

Sodapop swats branches away, muttering curses under his breath. I follow and flip the flashlight Darry had brought along on. The sun's setting and though it's not yet dark, the shaded woods are dim. We've been on the hunt for near 30 minutes and we'll keep looking until we find Hank.

"He couldn't have gotten far," Soda says. "Hell, he's just a baby…"

I keep thinking about Two-Bit and that godawful helpless look on his face when I arrived at the park. The look everyone seems to be wearing these days. Willy Wiese's words stick: _…you goan be hit hard. Travails and such…_ and I wonder what else is going to go wrong.

I trudge along, plod slowly, worried but thankful I can be here. That we're all here. I've got my friends, I've got my brothers and nothing else matters. Even my job. It doesn't matter at this point. People come and go but not them. They've – we've always been there. Lost in thought, not watching where I'm going, I trip over an upturned tree root and go sprawling in the leaves.

"Kiddo?" Soda asks, stooping. Frowning, I stick my hand deeper into the pile of leaves and rustle around. "Pony," Soda says, nervously laughing. "So help me god, if you find a fucking arm in here…"

I pull out a bottle. It's still full of milk. Soda and I let out anxious chuckles that instantly die as soon as we hear the baby crying. There's a loud shout from over the hill, a shout of exclamation.

"Thank Christ," Soda says, raising his face to the darkening sky. "They found him."

OoO

Karen's kissing a wailing Hank all over his pink, chubby face. Kathy's crying and Two-Bit's bitching out Karen's ex-boyfriend. "Next time, you call first!" he shouts. "You can't just take him, you stupid fucking idiot…"

Darry leaves Steve and Evie and walks over. "You two okay?" he asks, resting a hand on Soda's shoulder and I'm briefly reminded of our parents' funeral. Darry leaving the guests to check on the both of us huddled in a corner of the church, smoking; Soda's eyes so dark and wide I wanted to just crawl into them to escape.

When we both nod, Darry says, "You guys want to grab dinner? A drink?"

Soda lets out a breath. "A drink sounds real good right about now."

OoO

"I never forgot that," Soda says, laughing and pointing at Darry. "I never thought you would have done that in a million years."

Darry grimaces but he's smiling. "I'm not proud of it, Soda. Hell, mom never let me forget it either."

"Hey, you were only 12," I say. "Anyone would have tried to sell their own brother. Especially Sodapop."

Soda takes a sip of his beer, his smile handsome and bright white. "At least you made some money off me."

"Yeah," Darry says. "A whole buck. From dad." Sitting back in the booth, Darry sighs, the day crashing in around him. "God, I sure am glad we found that kid."

"Yeah," Soda agrees. "That was pretty fucking scary."

They're both looking at me and I know what they're thinking. Windrixville. It's both good and bad to be sitting here at this table with so many secrets – this time not any of mine – between the three of us. Deciding to clear the air, I give Darry a look and my brother averts his eyes.

"Soda," I say, deciding I'll start. "I ran into Sandy."

Soda drains his beer.

OoO

"It happened after I heard about you, Pony," Soda says. Darry lowers his eyes and glances at his hands.

"After Darry called me with the news that you were in the hospital, I couldn't think – I flipped. And there wasn't anything we could do, you know? You were there and we couldn't get to you. I sat around the apartment until Steve told me to get back to work but I couldn't. I didn't. I wanted to get away and just forget."

Soda swallows. "And I knew she was in town. I heard she was asking around about me so I looked her up. It's stupid but…but I just wanted someone who knew me. Really got me. And she always knew what you meant to me."

This time I look away.

"It just happened. It didn't mean anything…once and that was it." Soda speaks slow, his voice a low drawl. "But then she kept hanging around and well, hell, I was so angry. The thing with you—what she did to me…"

He swallows. "I wanted to hurt someone. And she was just there."

Soda wraps his long fingers around his bottle of Bud. "Hell, I ain't proud of it. But when I saw her…when she was back, it was too easy. _She_ was too easy."

He closes his eyes. "Christ, I met her goddamn kid. I told her I'd marry her. I'm such a fucking asshole."

Soda looks at Darry, our oldest brother's face calm and unreadable. "I didn't love her," Soda admits. He glances at me. "I just did it because I didn't know what else to do when you were hurt. And then I did it just to get even."

"I get it, Sodapop," Darry says after a long moment. "I really do. But I hope to hell you finally got it out of your system. Got the blondes and got Sandy and got all that anger out of you. Because even though she deserved it, even though I don't blame you, that was a real shit thing to do and you're better than that."

Soda reddens, shamed. Darry looks so much like our dad right now, sounds like him when would lecture, that it's easy to see where Soda's feeling the pain.

Soda rubs his face, eyes me from behind his long fingers, and groans, "Great example, I am for you, huh, kiddo?"

"Hell, you ain't perfect, Sodapop. And you ain't gotta be."

Darry opens his mouth, "Neither am I."

I sit very still as he spills it.

OoO

Even though he says, "I ain't mad, Dar," I can tell Soda's hurt, just like I was.

"You're not?" Darry asks carefully.

"No. I'm just—wow. You and Steve, huh?" Soda rests a hand against his mouth, his dark eyes thoughtful.

"I'm sorry, So—"

"You don't gotta be, Dar. It's your life."

"I still should have told you," Darry says. He looks my way. "I should have told you both. All the shit I give you for keeping your mouth shut and I go and do the same thing."

I say, "Just remember that the next time you want to yell at me about something."

Soda says, "Hell, it ain't a secret until Darry Curtis hears yells about it."

Darry barks out a laugh and soon they're both laughing. I just watch them, hoping they're okay, that they aren't pretending, when Soda shoots me a grin.

"Stop looking so worried, Pone. Your face'll stay like that."

I give him a small smile. "So who's the brunette?"

Soda blushes. "Her name's Jane. I don't really know her too well, but I like her. I really like her."

"That's a good thing, Sodapop," Darry says.

I lean back and grin. "That's a great thing."

OoO

_Thank you for the reads and reviews. Keep it up and I'll keep updating._

_Hope everyone had a happy new year._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	22. A Friend

_Sad chapter. That's my disclaimer._

A Friend

OoO

After grabbing dinner, Soda heads to his apartment and Darry and I go back to the house.

Max is sitting on our front steps when I pull into the driveway. Darry's truck comes rumbling down the street and pulls in behind me.

"Where the hell have you been?" Max lowers his sunglasses to scowl.

"There was an emergency, Max."

"I don't remember saying you could cut out early. Things are happening, Curtis."

"There're more important things here, man."

"First Nick, now you; my department's a goddamn clusterfuck. And you takin off like that sure as hell ain't helping things."

"It was family, Max," I snap, annoyed. "I had to go." I keep thinking about Two-Bit's face; Hank's cry and I'd go again in a second. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"This," Max hisses, "is your priority. This story. You get back to work and you do your goddamn job."

He grabs my arm. I stare, not used to seeing him come unhinged. Max gives me a shake. "You got that, Curtis?"

I grit my teeth. "What're you doin, Max?"

He smiles, dangerous-like, but keeps his hand wrapped around my bicep.

"Let him go," Darry says, stopping next to me.

After a long moment, Darry's eyes daring him to do otherwise, Max drops my arm. He says, "I want you back at work _tonight_. That's what you get for taking off like you did today, you little shit. You got the graveyard shift. And don't you even think about leaving until you finish those articles I assigned. Your deadlines just got upped. Morning, noon, and night, I want you at the World."

Beside me, Darry tenses. The angry buzz throbs in my head. Dallas Winston's words: _ that's what you get for trying to help people…._Willy Wiese's words: _you goan be hit hard. Travails and such…_

Finally, ignoring everyone else's words I say my own: "Fuck off, Max."

"Fuck off? You're telling me that?"

"I am. You know, some things don't matter. Some things are more important than your goddamned paper."

"Well, I'll tell you what Curtis, since you feel that way, since you feel so strongly about it, don't bother coming back to the paper because you and your friend, you're _both_ fucking fired! You got that?"

Storming off, Max hops into his Coupe, guns the engine and speeds off down our street.

OoO

"You okay?" Darry asks, coming into my room later.

"He's an asshole," I mutter, tossing my notes and articles into my backpack.

"You shouldn't listen to him anyway," Darry says. "You did the right thing."

I give my brother a smile and plop on the bed. "Yeah…"

"You'll get another job, Ponyboy."

"I don't want another job, Dar."

Darry looks worried. "Pony…"

"I'll get it back."

Darry groans.

OoO

A few days later, when I see it on TV, when I see the news, I can't help it. Adrenaline surges through my veins and I smile. I cross the living room, perching on the edge of the couch, and turn the volume up.

The police have found a tongue and a thumb in a neighborhood I know well.

He's back. He just couldn't stay away.

OoO

With purpose, I cross the lawn, notepad in hand. The thumb and tongue were found across the street from Two-Bit's house. I pray it's just a coincidence and not some sort of veiled warning. Red and blue police lights inflame the area around the cars and the street.

I'm angry. Real angry by now. No one's listened and this is the twelfth boy. David Marquez.

"Pssst, hey kid…"

Groaning, I stop and backtrack. Two-Bit's in the middle of the street, in a robe and slippers that I suspect Kathy bought him. "What're you doing?"

"Watchin' the news when I realized the flashing lights were in my backyard. What're _you_ doin?"

"I'm gonna go talk to the cops. Stay here."

OoO

It's the same detective who told Nick and me to stick to writing stories. He's dressed in plain-clothes, a red flannel shirt and jeans. Recognizing me, he scowls. "Hey, none of this."

"Oh, so now you don't want to talk?"

"Would someone get him out of here?" the detective shouts to no one in particular.

I raise my pencil, hoping it aggravates him. The way I feel tonight, I want to aggravate someone. I want to push buttons.

"What I want to know and what I'm sure all our readers want to know is what happened to that lead of yours? Are you going to keep Wayne Johnson in custody in spite of the recent events?"

The detective shoots me a glowering glance. "We've nothing to say to you. You know that. Get out of here." He slaps the notepad from my hands.

"You got the wrong guy. Another kid's dead. This town wants answers. Tell me, do you feel any personal responsibility for the death of—"

Sticking out his Billy club, the detective pokes me in the ribs, knocking air out of me, and shoving me backwards. My side jolts.

"Hey!" Two-Bit snaps, elbowing through the crowd. He knocks the detective's arm aside. "Back the hell off, buddy."

Lowly, I say, "Two-Bit," and try to grab my friend before he can do any more damage.

"Who the hell are you?" the detective asks with a dangerous smile.

"Mary-fucking-Poppins, who the hell are you?"

The man unveils his badge and I groan. "Detective Bolton, Tulsa PD. And you're both under arrest for assaulting an officer."

OoO

The jail cell is tight and gray. A urinal in the corner and two bunk beds. I claim the bottom cot, Two-Bit runs his fingers across the metal bars. It smells like dust and other things I don't want to imagine. I used my one phone call on a person I really hope comes through.

I rub my eyes. "I hate you so much right now."

"Well, how the hell was I supposed to know he was a cop?"

"The Billy club? The bright, flashing lights on top of the car?"

"A minor thing." Two-Bit paces the small jail cell, still in his robe. "They could have at least tossed me some pants," he gripes. "Relax, Pone. They ain't gonna press charges."

I sit on the cot, head in my hands. I mutter, "Yeah, that's all I need." I breathe in, steady and even, trying to keep calm, trying not to imagine the look on Darry's face when he hears about this. After a few relaxing minutes, Two-Bit's voice breaks the silence.

"Soda says you got fired for leaving work the other day for me and Karen."

"Don't worry about it, man. It was worth it." I glance up. "You know, finding Hank. I'm real glad he's okay."

Two-Bit stops pacing. "You know, maybe you're better off, kid."

"For what?"

"Gettin' fired. Now, I ain't sayin' you shoulda been but…maybe it's for the best. For everyone."

I groan and smear my face in my hands. "Not you too, Two-Bit."

"You look like hell these days. And we all know your brothers are both jumpy enough already."

"No, no, I can't. I'm so close."

"Close to what?"

"Finding the guy."

"And what're you gonna do when you find him?" Two-Bit's voice keeps an even keel but he's angry. "Tackle him with the shape you're in? Hell, Pony, you can—"

I hold up a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I can barely run. I got that. We've practically broadcast that fact across Tulsa by now."

Two-Bit looks hurt. "Shit, kid, I didn't mean—"

"It's okay. You're right." I clench my fist. "I just want his name. I want to find out who he is and then I'm done."

Two-Bit's eyes move as footsteps sound down the hall. He lowers his voice. "I hope that's the truth, Ponyboy." He cracks a grin. "No one likes a liar-liar-pants-on-fire."

I smile too, straightening up as the footsteps get closer. A dark shadow rounds then corner and then—

I let out a breath as Nick appears, followed by a police officer. It's the first time I've seen him in over a week. He looks better, healthier. Nick wraps a hand around one of the bars. "Max says you can only get arrested once per story."

I raise an eyebrow. "Funny, seeing as how I don't work for Max anymore."

"You do now." Nick holds up a wad of cash. "I got your bail money, Curtis."

OoO

After dropping Two-Bit off at his house, Nick lets me out near the Ranchero, parked a block away.

"Curtis, I'm sorry," he says. "For freaking out – for taking off like that. For not calling you back. I just…well, hell. I gotta get right. I'm really trying."

"You scared the hell outta me, Nick."

"I know. I'm sorry."

I unlock my car door. "So you're back?"

"Yeah. I'm back. How 'bout you?"

I laugh. "You know we only have jobs because of that Marquez kid? Max just needs us to solve the goddamn story."

"You sayin' you ain't gonna come back?"

"Hell, I'm comin' back. I'm gonna find this guy too and then I'm gonna rub it in Max's face."

OoO

Soda's waiting up at the house.

"Kathy called," he says. "You got arrested, Ponyboy? Jesus."

"Blame Two-Bit."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Never thought I'd see the day when you'd be in a jail cell." I open my mouth again and Soda holds a hand up. "Darry doesn't know."

"I can't tell him."

"No," Soda says. "Don't." He raises his eyes to the ceiling and chuckles. "For my sanity and yours – please, Ponyboy. Don't."

I run hands over my face and laugh.

OoO

Tulsa World is having a field day. Max and Nick write scathing op-eds about how the cops fouled up the Tulsa Terror case. I stay out of it; I don't write a thing. Max floats a contrite apology my way, barely acknowledging what had happened; his demeanor so normal I almost wonder if it was all in my head.

Wayne Johnson goes free and all is right in the world.

Except for one thing. Maybe two.

OoO

"When's Liz get back?" I ask Darry in a low voice.

"A few days," he says. "I can't talk her into staying away any longer."

I bite my lip. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Darry says, moving out of the hallway and into the kitchen where Soda's at the helm of dinner. Darry raises a brow. "Soda, I don't know if that's edible."

"What else is new?" Steve mutters. He flips the blueprints over and scribbles. "Try livin' with the guy."

"Don't be jealous of my culinary skills, Stevie," Soda says, flipping a blue pancake.

I just laugh. Since the revelation about Darry and Steve's partnership, Soda seems genuinely happy. But Soda's always been happy. I don't know why I expected anything different. He's right; I probably do worry too much.

I bring the trash can over as the entire kitchen fills with the smell of burning pancakes. "Eggs, Soda," Darry says, grabbing a plan from Steve. "Just make eggs. And make them normal."

Soda dumps the charred pancakes in the trash. "That's an insult to genius, Dar."

Carrying the bag of trash, I shove the back door open and step outside into the night.

OoO

I dump the black bag in the trash can, settling the tin lid on top of it. The night's quiet and lonely. That deep, never-ending dark. I take a few steps out of the gate, the breeze icy on my face. The stars are bright in the sky.

The alley behind our house is full of shadows. It's a dark where I could forget everything, where I could go away, but I've already been there and can't go back. A noise echoes somewhere in the long alleyway, a scraping something. A whispered breath…

Caught up in remembering, I shake my head, clearing it. Anxious to get back to the house, I turn around fast and bump into something solid. A person.

A hand stretches out, grabs my arm and I scream.

OoO

Stubs's face stares back at me. "Oh, Jesus," I choke out, stumbling back. "Stubs, you scared the almighty shit out of—"

I cut off as the back door flies open, ricocheting hard against the side of the house. "Who's this?" Darry's asking, his chest rising fast when he reaches us, Soda on his heels. I note with relief they don't have the shotgun with them. Probably not enough time.

Steve stands on the porch holding a spatula and I have to laugh. Some hero he is.

"This is – this is Chris Stubmann – Stubs. You know…from Cherry Hills…"

"What're you doin' here, man?" Soda asks, annoyance creeping into his voice. "It's late. You could've used the front door."

Darry rests a firm hand on my shoulder, trying to steer me back to the house. I see my brothers exchange a relieved look. They both thought it was Vinny. Hell, I nearly did too. Stubs looks around, almost robotically, his long hair hanging in his face.

Goosebumps run over my arms. "Stubs," I say, pulling away from Darry to take a closer step. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

"Something happened at Cherry Hills, Ponyboy."

I think of all the phone calls I haven't returned and the air goes out of me. "It's not – it ain't—"

"It's not Flora," Stubs says, chokes out. "It's Marie. She killed herself."

"No. Oh, no," I say.

OoO

Stubs tells me about Marie. How she wasn't getting better, how the treatments weren't working, how she didn't want to do the shock anymore. We sit in the living room, just the two of us, and Stubs speaks in a dull monotone.

"She didn't have any hope left in the end and she knew I wouldn't leave without her. I just didn't see it coming. Marie was good at hiding things. If she didn't want you to know, you wouldn't have the slightest."

Feeling lost, I stare at the ground. "Shit, Stubs," I manage. "I'm sorry. So sorry."

He shakes his head. "Damn that woman for being so stubborn."

The buzz sounds, loud and white, cluttering my brain. I close my eyes, wondering what's next. Wondering if this is what Willy was alluding to. My brothers and Steve move around in the kitchen, giving us space. I crave a smoke but already know that's a lost cause.

"If you need a place to stay—"

Stubs waves away the offer. "I'm on my way to my sister's. I just thought you should know, Ponyboy. You weren't picking up the phone, kid."

"I should've called her back."

"You wouldn't have known."

"I still should have."

It's no excuse; my job's consumed me, so much to the point that I've ignored my surroundings to focus on the story and now someone in my life is gone. It's what I've been afraid of every since I came back to this place.

"Hell, it might've helped." Stubs shrugs, the life in his face empty. "I don't know. You don't know. We can't blame ourselves." He stands.

"Stubs, don't go."

"I gotta. Jen's waiting up." He clasps my shoulder on his way out. "I'll be seeing you, P.M. Curtis."

The door slams hard but I don't move.

OoO

Low voices in the hall. Whispered and hushed. The door cracks open and then there's Liz's voice. She must have just gotten back from her parents'.

"Ponyboy…"

I don't take my eyes off the notepad. I keep rereading the same paragraph over and over again.

"Darry told me what happened to Marie," Liz says. "I'm so sorry, honey." She settles herself in the chair across from my bed. "You want something to eat? Darry can run out and—"

"I'll be okay."

She gives me a stern look. "Soda says you haven't come out in two days. You won't talk to him or Darry. They were thinking about sending Two-Bit in but I wanted to have a crack first."

"I should have called her back," I say. "Maybe if I did—"

"You can't do that," Liz says. "You can't play that game with yourself, you hear me? You didn't do anything wrong, Ponyboy. She knows that."

I squeeze my eyes shut.

OoO

The grounds of Cherry Hills are littered with a frosting of faint, white snow. I keep my hands in the pockets of my jackets. Despite it being early March, spring is a ways off. The gray in the air never-ending.

Crunching footsteps behind me and then Flora is saying to the aide near her side, "No, no, I don't want to see him." She shrinks away. Puts hands against her face.

"Flora, can I just—"

"No!" she shrieks. Her limp blonde hair is tangled and matted. She hits the arm of the aide and then after looking like she's about to run away, Flora takes a step forward.

"Marie was waiting for you to call and you didn't! You just forgot about us in here!"

"Flora, I never meant to hurt you or Marie. I know. I should have called. I should h—"

She screams, "You left us! You came and you left like we didn't even matter! Then Marie goes and now Stubs! I don't have anyone now. I'm here alone and Marie died."

She's crying now, her face twisted up and red. Flora juts a finger out, her mouth quivering. "You're a bad friend, Ponyboy Curtis. You're bad and I don't want to ever talk to you again."

Blood drains from my face. I feel like I've just been punched in the stomach, my guts roll.

After a moment, Flora turns and runs for the hospital, leaving small white footsteps behind in the snow.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thank you for reviewing. You all rock. Keep it up._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	23. A Breakdown

_Disclaimer - The usuals: SE Hinton owns. Swearing. Maybe a cliffie?_

A Breakdown

OoO

It's about a strength. A strength I don't have at the moment. Everything's wrong. I can't get right; I'm dragging people down. Marie. All those kids. My brothers. My friends. Flora. I keep trying to fix things and they keep slipping from my fingers.

OoO

"Yeah…Ralph Feinstein in Records…No, I don't want to hold. I've been—_damn it_…"

I stick the phone under my neck and open the fridge. Unable to focus, I shut the door. Open it. Close it. I listen to the bad music on the other end of the line, my nerves frayed. Nick's given me the phone number to his contact in the Medical Examiner's office and so far it's been a tug-of-war to get in touch with the guy.

The back door swings open, revealing Darry and Two-Bit. Seeing me on the phone, the perfect opportunity to screw with me, Two-Bit instantly goes in for a headlock. I duck out of his grasp, slamming back into the counter as there's a voice on the other line. I give him the finger. Darry shakes his head.

"Yes, hello?" I grind my teeth together. "No, I don't need a transfer. Listen, I've been waiting for twenty minutes…he knows I'm call—"

The line clicks through and then goes dead. Stunned, I listen to the dial tone. Frustrated anger from the last few days boils over. "God damn it!" I slam the phone down, bring it back up and slam it down again.

"Easy, kid," Two-Bit says. "It's not a throat."

"Hey, hey," Darry says, watching closely. "It's okay, Ponyboy."

"Nothing's okay," I tell him. "Nothing." I back away from my brother and leave the kitchen.

I hear Darry sigh and tell Two-Bit, "The funeral's tomorrow."

OoO

Soda goes with me. I don't know anyone there except Stubs and even then, there aren't many to know. Maybe twenty people stand around the small grave. They don't acknowledge anyone, no one cries, no one says anything.

Stubs can't do it. He looks like he's going to combust. I see the pain and want to talk to him but I also see that he doesn't want anything to do with anyone. So I stay away.

It starts snowing halfway through the preacher's prayers. Soda keeps a tight grip on my elbow as Marie's grave is blessed.

OoO

Halfway back to the truck my back cramps up.

I think of everything that isn't working, that I've messed up, those I've let down, and it's too much. _One thing, _I think_. I just want one thing to go right._ The air leaves my lungs, my legs go out and I hit the ground.

Soda drops beside me on the damp earth. "Pony, what is it?"

"I can't do this anymore," I tell my brother, hanging my head. I press my palms into the frozen grass, the knees of my jeans getting soaked. "I just can't do it…"

Soda's breathing becomes even. He touches my back, massaging the kink. "What, Ponyboy? What're you talking about?"

"Everything. Worry about Vinny, you and Darry, Nick, Willy…now this…"

I dip, sucking in a pained breath. "I did it to myself, I know that but…this is hard…I never thought it'd be that hard…I can't even run…" I say, feeling pitiful, like I should have died back in that alley way six months ago.

"I can't do anything right. And now Marie is dead and…and…"

"You're good at what you do, Pony," Soda says. "And you're gonna be fine, kiddo. Darry and I…well, Ponyboy, it scares the hell out of us, but we're proud of you. We're so goddamn proud of you, you don't even know."

I sink lower and grip snow in my hand. I hear someone crying and know it's me. Soda keeps his voice low and even. Soft, and in that instant, he reminds me of Johnny.

"What you're trying to do for those kids, Ponyboy. For Bradley Miles…Darry told me about that, when he came by. He never saw you so brave as when you talked to that kid. When you told him about us; you and Johnny and Dal."

Soda rubs my back and I swallow hard. I don't deserve him.

I squeeze my eyes shut and think of Vinny. "They're gonna kill me, Soda. They really are. And I don't want to leave you guys…I don't—They're going to get me and—"

"Never. You hear me? They'll never touch you."

The ground grows damper, snow quickening. Off in the distance traffic sounds, a bird cawing, the air grave and quiet. Soda keeps a tight hold on me. He moves closer.

"They come back and I'll kill 'em. I swear to god, I'd do anything for you, kiddo. You know that…anything. Darry and I, we're gonna keep you safe and you're gonna be okay."

"What if I screw this up, Soda?"

"You can't. You won't," Soda says. Making me look at him, he squeezes the sides of my face between his hands. "You can do this, Ponyboy."

Soda pulls me into a hug. I cry for Marie and I cry for those boys.

OoO

"You okay?"

I toss the pack of smokes on the desk. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"I'm sorry about your friend, Ponyboy," Nick says, pulling our office door shut tight. "About Marie. I mean—shit."

"Yeah."

"You cool to work?"

"Yeah," I say. "I am."

The talk with Soda has helped, reenergized me. Something calm and determined sits deep in my stomach. I had my breakdown, my pity party, and now I'm angry. I grab a fresh notepad and pen and shove them into my backpack. "I'm driving up to see Willy today."

"Again?"

"Something. He's gotta give me something."

OoO

I stare at him. Run a hand through my shaggy hair. "Man, you ain't serious?"

"'Fraid so, My Boy. Ain't been scheduled yet, but it be scheduled soon."

I still have no words. Willy Wiese deserves death row. He deserves the electric chair; there ain't a doubt in my mind. But to hear his execution date will be set within a week is jarring. Because I need him. Now all I have is borrowed time.

"Shit," I say lowly.

"Now how 'bout you tell me what we're goan do now?"

I raise my face. "I ain't got the slightest, Willy."

He grins a disgusting smile; black and full of rage. "You and I – we'll figure it out. Won't we, My Boy?" A lone finger of Willy's runs across the back of my hand. I jerk away.

Willy cracks his knuckles. "Da hole inside of you is smaller. You're still hurtin but something happened."

"Can you focus?" I snap. "Can you focus on this case for once instead of me?"

"I might have a lot to give you this time," Willy says, the meaning clear. "I might."

I rest my forearms on the table and dip close. "You do, and I'll talk about whatever you want."

"You gotta look for that long neck high in the sky watchin over Tulsa."

"That doesn't help me," I say, frustrated. "That's not good enough this time."

He taps his temple. "Stay tuned."

OoO

I leave the penitentiary with nothing more.

But Willy's promised he'll have something for me so I try to sit tight. And in less than a week I'll know the exact date of Willy Wiese's expiration date.

It should be comforting.

OoO

Darry's frowning at the notepad in his hand. He mutters, "_Long neck high in the sky_?"

"I know," I say. "He talks in riddles I don't get."

My brother sits on the end of my bed, his brow creased, still thinking. I shift awkwardly. This is weird; but not unwelcoming. Darry and Soda, in the place of unhappy acceptance with my job at the paper, seem curious now. Bound and determined to help when they can.

"At first I thought it was a beer bottle but then…" I shake my head. "That doesn't make sense."

"What about…" Darry begins slowly, "That billboard over on Dempsey?"

I smile, remembering the billboard with a bottle of Miller Light on it. It's only memorable because Two-Bit had been going on about the blonde posing next to the bottle.

"I don't know. I just don't."

Darry says, "I'll think about it," and hands me back my notepad.

OoO

I try to call Cherry Hills but Flora won't take my calls. I can picture the payphone ringing in the hall and her sitting in one of the hard plastic chairs staring at it. Soda's the only one I told about what she said. He just looked at me with sorry eyes and said she'd come around.

But I don't know about that. I'm pretty pissed at myself so I can imagine how she's feeling.

I'd do anything to talk to her, anything to make this right, but I just don't know what I can say that would fix it.

OoO

Bradley Miles dumps about half a cup of sugar in his coffee and empties the creamer as well. I wrap a hand around my warm mug as the waitress refills my cup. Bradley had called me, saying he needed to get out of the house so I had picked him up and taken him to Mabel's Diner on Main Street.

"My mom doesn't want me to go back to school yet," he says, eyes on the menu in front of him. "I think she's embarrassed for me."

I think of Darry. I smile and say, "No that ain't it. She's probably just worried about you. About the kids at school."

He snorts. "I don't care about them. I don't care about any of it. I just want to get back to norm—" Bradley cuts off, eyes moving over my shoulder. "That angry guy over there's staring at you."

I twist around and laugh. "That's just Steve."

Steve Randle and Darry stand by the PLEASE TAKE A SEAT sign, brushing snow off their jackets. They make their way over to us. "Hey, Dar," I say. "Came to get some breakfast too?"

"That was the idea, Pone," Darry says with a light grin.

"Brad," I say to the kid because he's watching us with curious eyes. "You remember my brother Darry?" He nods. I look at Steve. "And this is our…and I use the term lightly…our friend Steve."

Chuckling, Steve gives a nod at Bradley, avoiding the awkward situation of shaking hands with a kid who doesn't have one.

"So you gotta put up with him now?" Steve asks, but his voice isn't as hard as it normally could be.

Bradley blushes and says, "He ain't so bad."

"Gee, thanks," I say as Darry and Steve both laugh.

I pick up a menu. "We haven't ordered yet, if you want to crash our booth."

Steve smirks. "Kid, I thought you'd never ask."

OoO

It's amazing what normalcy can do. Steve sits with Bradley, Darry with me, and it's an ordinary breakfast. We eat and talk. No one mentions Brad's arm, the Tulsa Terror or treats him differently for it. Steve's kinder than normal but only Darry and I notice.

It's not much but it's a whole hell of a lot to Brad. His eyes light up when Steve starts talking about the DX. "Yeah, yeah, I been there before," he says. "I always thought that job seemed so cool."

"You should stop on by sometime," Steve offers. "Soda and I can give you a tour."

Bradley looks at me, practically beaming, and then starts scarfing down pancakes. Darry takes a sip of black coffee. "You workin' today?"

"Shit," Steve says. "When isn't he working?"

"I have to interview someone," I tell my brother, ignoring Steve, who's now educating Bradley about the finer art of engine removal. "And that's it."

"Well, you should come on by the shop when you're done," Darry says. "It's shaping up nice. I want you to see it, kiddo."

I give him a smile. "Sure thing, Dar."

Darry squeezes my shoulder, and then because Brad asks, genuinely interested, Darry starts telling him about Curtis Construction. My brother's smiling and happy. An odd feeling suddenly hits me as they talk. I watch him watch Bradley and Darry gets this soft expression on his face. And then when he looks at me it's the same expression. Blinking, I finally realize what Darry sees when he sees me and getting that is a scary feeling.

I watch Brad. I watch my brother. The story's worth it. Why I'm chasing it and who for.

OoO

"Wires?" I ask.

Ralph Feinstein says, "Yup," and hands me a file. "Confidential," he says and I wonder how many people he says that to a day.

I give him a wry grin as I open the folder. The contacts Max has in his back pocket are astounding. I read fast.

"Electrical wires?"

"Seems like that. The strangulation marks aren't consistent with rope. Happened before the boys died."

"So he just—"

"He strangles them, lets them breathe again, and then slices 'em up. No rape. No molestation. Just the facts, Sport."

I wince at his nickname as much as his curt description of the Tulsa Terror's MO. "So what does that mean?"

"It just means someone really likes killing."

I close the folder.

OoO

The next night is a cold one. Night dawns early, thick snow begins to fall and Liz's plants freeze.

Nick brings over our files, both of us ready to tell each other what we've learned over the past two days. He's been interviewing David Marquez's family and I have Willy's cryptic words to tell him about.

"You talk to Ralph finally?" Nick asks, settling at the table. A screen door rattles somewhere in the house.

"Yeah. Yesterday. Stuff just doesn't make sense, Nick. I mean, hell, I can see why the cops are confused." I drum my fingers across the table. "What about the parents?"

"They were nice enough," Nick says. "Sad as hell though. Last time they saw him was near Lake Elmo."

"A lot's happened out at that lake," I murmur. "We should go check it out tomorrow."

Nick shakes his head, says, "I went by there today. Nothing out there except a few bulldozers and bucket trucks. City's rewiring the lands for electric. Gonna turn that poor lake into some sort of tourist trap."

I bite my lip, thinking about the electrical wires.

"You think it's the place where he finds them, Curtis?" Nick asks.

"Not _the_ place. But maybe _one_ of the places."

I stand, move to the fridge and open it. The wind howls outside. "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

The phone rings right as I'm relaying our options for dinner. "We got leftover spaghetti or leftover chocolate cake…take your pick…"

"Curtis," Nick says. He's holding out the phone. He looks spooked. "You might want to take this."

I move across the kitchen and say, "Hello?"

There's that robotic voice again, repeating: "Collect call from Oklahoma State Penitentiary. Will you accept the charges?"

"I accept." I wait for it, heart pumping hard, in my throat.

"My Boy, you 'dere?"

"I'm here. What is it?"

"You got 'bout 20 minutes to see him but…he's in your area."

I grip the phone. "Where? Where is he, Willy?"

"I can't see real well…but I think it's a junkyard. You got one 'round 'dere?"

"Tenth and Boston." The old landfill. I glance at the clock on the wall. It'll take me more than ten minutes to get down there. "I can make it," I say.

"So do it. And My Boy—" Willy's voice says as I prepare to hang up. "Don't let that partner of yours get you lost."

I slam the receiver down, ready to go. This is what I've been waiting for. A chance to catch this bastard. I scrawl a note to my brothers, telling them I'll be back soon.

"We gotta go, Nick. And we gotta go now."

"It's him?"

"Yeah, he's at the landfill over on Boston."

"So Willy says?"

"So he says."

"Well," Nick says, looking nervous. "Let's go see."

OoO

We stay in the Ranchero for nearly fifteen minutes, hidden behind a large dumpster, before the white van pulls up. Nick rolls his eyes and calls it, "cliché" but we hold our breath as it pulls through the unlocked gates and rolls down the hill into the Tulsa County Junkyard, taillights winking as it disappears.

"Was that it?" Nick asks.

"I think so." I open the door and crawl out.

We make it down the hill, our footsteps light, slowing our pace as we reach the crusty gate. I wrap a hand around the steel bar and push it in, giving it a space wide enough for us to fit through. Nick floats me a smirk and slips through the gate, but not before I see the wariness in his face.

OoO

There's no one in the van. The back doors are open and gaping, like two flopping white teeth. I walk around the perimeter. I finger the blade in my pocket. Nick's poking around in the back of the van, digging through a red toolbox.

"We should get out of here," Nick whispers. His voice shakes; a voice like that night in the Miami alleyway. "We don't even know if it's the guy. I mean, it could be anyone. Just some worker or—"

"It's him," I say, feeling the same eerie feeling I felt out on the 11th Street Bridge. But I'm beginning to think Nick is right. We shouldn't be here.

And I'm about to say so when there's soft movement from somewhere up ahead. "Get out of there," I whisper to Nick before darting behind a large pile of dirt. Nick stays frozen in the back of the van, his eyes as big as headlights. He doesn't move a muscle.

"Nick," I hiss. "Get the hell—"

I squat lower as a dark figure emerges from the darkness. It walks from the front of the van to the back end. The shoes make muffled clops in the dirt, heavy bootsteps. I gesture furiously at Nick: RUN NICK. NOW. His eyes dart to me, to the approaching bootsteps and then suddenly—

Without completing a full walk-around of the van, the dark figure shuts one of the back doors of the van and Nick flattens himself up against the side before he can be seen. The Tulsa Terror shuts the other door.

The van starts up and slowly moves up the winding slope. I swear under my breath and bolt up the hill.

OoO

_Pardon typos. So many thanks for the reviews. You rock my world. Fast and furious updates are a-comin._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	24. A Date

_Uh, Cliffhanger. Sorry. I try not to do too many but this one couldn't be helped._

_Well…I warned you._

A Date

OoO

I floor the gas, peeling out after the white van. Breathing hard, from the run back to my car, from the adrenaline, from the fear, I crank the steering wheel. I keep my eyes on the taillights of the van, not letting it out of my sight. I do that and Nick's gone. I turn onto a lit street and the Ranchero slips on some ice but I right it.

Wondering if the Tulsa Terror even knows I'm trailing him, I go under an overpass and the van slows as it takes a corner. It stops at a stop light. Nick's chance.

I brake hard and wait about twenty feet away.

"C'mon, Nick, c'mon…c'mon…" I mutter, willing my friend to snap out of it. I realize I'm gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles stand out white in the dark cab. The van's still at the stop light when the back doors fly open.

Nick's running down the street, arms pumping hard. I slap the dash, silently urging him to hurry the hell up.

He crawls inside right as the van turns the corner and disappears. There's a white rolled up paper in his hand. "Jesus, Nick. Are you okay?" I ask, twisting to look at him.

He's got that panicked look on his face, one I'm well familiar with, and he doesn't say anything. "Hey!" I snap, pushing down memories of Miami. "You can't do this. Not now. I need you here, man."

"I know. I know," he mutters, the glaze in his eyes disappearing. At least for the moment.

"Did he know you where there?"

"No," Nick says. He locks his door. "He didn't even see me."

I doubt that but don't say it. We sit there for a long minute, breathing heavily. Finally he says, "I took these," and shows the rolled up piece of paper.

I blanch; at first I think it's a catalogue filled with body parts but after a closer inspection I see the legs and arms are really artificial limbs. An ordering guide for amputees called Wakefield Prosthetic. Briefly, I flip through it and then look up at Nick.

"But what…?"

"I know," he says, taking a shuddering breath. "It's weird as hell, man. Fucking weird shit."

I glance at him. "Nick…"

"Let's just get the hell outta here. Before he comes back."

I gun it, the engine ripping through the dark night.

OoO

"You wanna come in?" I ask Nick as we pause outside on the porch. The catalogue is folded up and tucked in my back pocket. I can't wait to get a closer look at it.

"No," he says. "I don't." Pale, Nick backs away from the front door. His voice is so low I barely hear him. "I did it again, Curtis."

"No. No, you didn't."

"I did. I just stood there while it all happened. I froze."

This isn't what I want to talk about tonight. I don't want to remember that. I want to focus on _this_. The here and now; this case. But my side gives a throb, telling me it won't let me forget.

"Nick—"

"I fucked up once and it almost got you killed. I mean, hell, no goddamn wonder you'd rather go it alone."

"Man, Nick, would you just cut the shit!" I snap, frustrated with his guilt. With the fact that he just can't shut up about it. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you to leave it alone. To forget about it."

"Stop it!" he yells. "Stop trying to make me feel better. I can't sleep anymore. I panic and freeze. You do it too. I see it. I know you do."

My hands start shaking as that night churns in my memory. Emotions I've been trying to fight ever since I've been home are being swirled up again like puffs of dust…

OoO

…It's late, dark, nearing midnight. There's no breeze, the air hot and sticky. Before I came to Miami, I've never seen palm trees in my life. I glance toward the sky, the stars sparkling behind the tops of the green fronds.

I stand in the alley behind the _Casablanca Nightclub_ waiting for Tony and his crew. Nick's not there yet, despite planning to meet 15 minutes ahead of time. A week ago we found out the real supplier of the drugs is the Trafficante crime family. But we can't leave. We can't quit. We're _this_ close.

I always say that. And I still never learn.

I'm about to go looking for Nick when they emerge from the shadows. Tony and two other guys. I've come to know them well, better than Nick, and I think they trust me. It's my first stupid move.

"Youse goin' somewhere?" Tony asks lightly.

"Nah, man," I say, not wanting to get Nick involved if he doesn't show. The two guys, dressed in black behind Tony, shift and pass something between them.

A car starts up, idling, faint strains of _Time is On My Side_ floating into the alleyway.

"I have what you been askin around for," Tony says. He reaches back and takes what one of the men hands him. He lets a small baggie filled with white powder dangle between his fingers for barely a minute and then deftly palms it.

The two guys behind him begin pacing the alley, making slow circles around us.

"Great," I say. "Thanks a lot, man." I stick my hands in my pockets and check the entrance for Nick.

"You nervous, Mikey?" Tony asks. "Waitin on someone?"

"Nope. Just this."

"Good."

I pull out the wad of cash Max has sent and hand it over. Tony laughs as I move to take the baggie and jerks it away before I can touch it. "What? You just gonna trust us?"

I give him an easy smile. "Sure, I trust you Tony, why wouldn't I?"

"And I appreciate that, Mikey, I really do. But let me teach you a lesson in life. Before you buy, you gotta test the merchandise."

Tony opens the bag, resting it in the palm of his left hand and then with his right unveils a sharp knife. He dips the tip of the knife in the fine powder and brings it back out. A dime-size amount of white sits on the end of it.

"Well, go on."

My mistake is so slight. I don't say no, I don't draw away, I don't even laugh it off. Instead, I think about Darry – what my brother would think of me, what he would _do_ to me and I hesitate. Blink and you'd miss it. But it's all they need. Before I can say anything, Tony's eyes move. He nods at the man behind me.

Something sharp slams into my back and is dragged along my side, coming to stop in the middle of my stomach. The blade is pressed in and then released with a soft sucking sound. Tony grins and then takes a step away. I don't even have time to process the pain. I go down. I hit the grimy cement and as the blood pools underneath my body, the Rolling Stones continue their song.

I think, _Darry's going to kill me_, and close my eyes. When I re-open them the stars are still blinking above me.

A car door slams.

A few minutes later, Nick's screaming for help…

OoO

…Nick smears his face in his hands and groans.

"I saw it happen, Curtis. You know it and I know it. So I don't know why in the hell you're so goddamn forgiving. I was late because I was too chicken shit to get involved in the deal. I was supposed to meet you at eleven and I didn't. I waited in the car until I saw that motherfucker stab you and I froze."

I close my eyes, hearing Nick's raw voice.

Tonight, pushed him over the edge. Because he did freeze up again. Nick's ashamed but no matter what I still can't blame him. He was scared. I think of Dallas; stress and fear does strange things to people. We all react differently.

"I left you in that alley until I worked up the guts to help you out. I almost didn't, you know that? I almost left you there. I was scared; I didn't know what to do." He takes a strangled breath. "It's a goddamn wonder you made it at all. Some fucking partner I am."

"I get it, man. But don't you think I've screwed up too? I got us involved in the whole thing. You kept telling me to back off but I didn't. You can't go and—"

Nick's eyes shoot open.

"You just left him there?" Soda's hurt voice floats through the screen door and then both my brothers are stepping out onto the porch. Darry holds the note I left. "Christ, Nick, how could you?"

I touch a hand to my forehead. It's out. And because it's been hidden for so long, it will only make matters worse. I sigh. "Soda…"

Darry looks like he doesn't know where to start. Shock and anger cross his features. He holds up a hand. "That's where you were?" he booms. "You were in the fucking car, _watching it_?"

"Darry," Nick stammers. "Listen, I didn't—"

"No," I say, stepping in front of my oldest brother before he can make a move. His fists are clenched, jaw tight; Darry's fighting stance. "Darry, don't."

Darry looks at me and I shake my head. He looks at Nick.

"I'm sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry." Nick wipes at his face. He looks like he wants to fall over.

"Get the hell out of here," Darry says curtly, turning to storm inside. The screen door clatters like thunder.

"Soda," Nick says, turning to my stunned brother. "I never meant—"

"Nick," Soda says. "You should just stay away."

OoO

"You were too hard on him."

"Don't." Darry slams the door shut and locks it. "I don't want to hear it."

"He ain't my keeper, Dar," I say tiredly. "It wasn't his fault."

"That's bullshit. All I know is that he left you in an alley to bleed out. If the cops didn't come, if no one had called – do you understand where you'd be now, Ponyboy? Do you?"

Soda just leans back against the closed door, his arms crossed, eyes on the ground.

"He's not welcome here," Darry says. "Not anymore."

"C'mon, Dar, that's not—"

"I know you have to work with him," Darry says, "But I don't want to see his face around this house again. You got that?"

Soda nods, echoing Darry's sentiment.

OoO

No one asks where I was tonight and I don't tell them. And with the mess with Nick, I don't think they could handle much else.

I go back to my room and unfurl the catalogue. It's thin, maybe about twenty pages consisting of different limbs in different sizes and colors. It's creepy.

There's no name on the catalogue, no point of reference as to who would own this. Although, some of the artificial arms are circled and starred. A shiver runs over my spine. I don't know what this entire thing means.

OoO

"You got to look at it careful-like…"

Raising an eyebrow, I hold the catalogue up and turn it ninety degrees. "I've looked at it every which way, Willy. I can't get anything else from it."

He's quiet, waiting. I set it on the table and decide to flip through it once again. I move fast and as I get to the end I find two pages stuck carefully together. I grip the edges and gingerly pull it apart. The revealed page is an order form. One with the quantity and item number.

Messy print reads: _Item Number: #5513 - Below elbow right arm. Quantity: 1_.

Willy rattles his chains, a hand outstretched. I slide it over to him and he examines it. Runs a finger down the cheap stapled spine. "See? You found dis."

I give him a look. I'm not too sure I found it on my own. Willy's too good at playing me like a puppet. I turn back to the catalogue.

"Why?" I murmur. "Why would he be ordering this and for who?"

"You da reporter," Willy says. "Investigate."

I crack a grin. "Yeah, I know."

"I make it too easy for you, My Boy." He sounds smug. "What you be doin' when I'm gone?" I glance up. "Dey bring me a date, My Boy."

"When?"

"Three weeks from now."

"Three weeks? Jesus."

"Judge he done signed it yesterday. Death by 'lectric chair."

I run a hand through my hair and roll the catalogue up into a tight spiral. Just when I get it together, get my hands around something; all of a sudden I lose my grip. 21 days. That's all I have left with Willy.

He answers my unsaid thought. "It's a race now, ain't it?"

"I have to solve this."

"Needing me is deceiving," Willy says. "You're da one who puts it together."

"No," I say. "I don't think so."

He leans back in his chair and watches me so intently I avert my eyes. When the guards come to take him away I have no idea what to do next.

OoO

"You rely on him too much, Curtis," Nick says when I finish telling him about Willy's execution date. "And I can't believe I'm about to say this," he grumbles, "But Wiese really is right…you don't need him. Plus, it ain't like his death is gonna be a loss on society or anything like that."

"Yeah," I murmur, flipping through the catalogue again. The world zones out. The buzz sounds.

"Good riddance," Nick says. He sits at his desk and pretends to work while I stare off into space. The Tulsa World is quiet without Max. He's out on a story, which usually means he's out with his receptionist Marjorie.

Finally, Nick asks what I'm sure he's been thinking about ever since last night. "The Big One hates me, don't he?"

I waver my hand. "More like strongly dislikes."

"I don't blame him."

"Listen, Darry shouldn't have said what he did. No matter how mad he is."

"I'm glad it's out. That they know."

I take in his coloring, his dark circles. But his eyes are clear, hands steady and I think that maybe, despite the consequences, Darry knowing is one of the best things that could have happened to Nick.

"Do you feel better about it?"

"Let's just say I'm not dreaming as much as I used to."

I chuckle. "I wish I had your problems."

"Shit, Curtis, I wish you did too."

OoO

I call the phone number on the catalogue for Wakefield Prosthetic and am passed until I get the person I want. I request a list of the people from Tulsa who've applied to be on the mailing list. The woman on the other line promises she'll fax it to me by the end of the day.

Next, I call Sodapop and tell him I'll be late. He tells me to be careful.

I stay at the office until eight o'clock rolls around. I don't get any faxes. Max shouts at me when I leave.

OoO

"Well," I announce when I get home, slinging my bag on the ground. Darry glances over. He's in the recliner, reading a thick book. "Willy's dead next month."

Darry frowns. I flop onto the couch. "He finally got an execution date."

"It's about time," Darry grunts. But he sits up and sets his book aside.

I lean my head back and close my eyes. The couch shifts and then Soda's next to me. "So what does that mean?"

"It means I damn well better figure this out. Or our only lead is gone."

Soda gives Darry a look and then after a long hesitation says, "Kiddo, you don't think that Willy might…"

"Know him?"

"Yeah," Soda says. "I mean, he knows enough. Maybe he knows the guy. Maybe he'll give him up at the end."

I chew a nail. I can't rely on that though. Besides how would that explain anything? Everything that Willy's known this far?

"Maybe, but I don't think so." I take a breath. "I have three weeks. I can do it."

"Just…" Darry begins, tightrope walking the line between lecture and worry. "Just slow down and think before you do whatever you do."

I laugh. "Don't I always?" Darry rolls his eyes.

"We know you're in this," Soda says. "Just holler if you need help, okay, kiddo?"

I nod, give my brother a small smile.

OoO

A week later, on the way to the movies, Two-Bit and I stop by the DX to chat up Steve. "How'd you talk him into this?" Steve snorts, raising a dark brow. I'm the only one who likes movies in our group and getting Two-Bit to go along is considered a feat of epic proportions.

I lean against one of the gas pumps. "I'm buying him dinner after."

"Kathy know about this?" Steve asks Two-Bit. He snaps a rusty windshield wiper in half and tosses it in a trash pile.

"I'm a cheap date," Two-Bit says. "We have an agreement."

Steve rolls his eyes. "So what'd you two want? I ain't got time to bullshit all day."

"Yeah," I say, gesturing at the empty gas stations. "You really look swamped."

"Good thing you changed your profession, Stevie," Two-Bit says. "Seems you're driving away business these days."

"Spill it, Mathews," Steve says.

Two-Bit blushes and I laugh knowing his predicament. "I, uh, actually came to borrow your phone. I, uh, you know…need to call Kathy and…"

Steve hoots. "Check in with the little woman? Yeah, that makes a lot more sense, Two-Bit." He flicks his grease rag at Two-Bit's arm. "Phone's in the shop, you bum."

I watch Two-Bit lope behind Steve and they both enter the DX, bells ringing lightly.

Having a day off feels good. Although I do feel guilty. But I can't concentrate on anything, my brain's so fried nothing makes sense. I'll give myself this day to forget and then come back to it later tonight. I have to.

A crunch of gravel; someone's pulling into the lot and that's when I spy a dark Cadillac. It stops next to a stack of tires. It just sits there, engine running, windows tinted black. It shakes like a beast.

There's nowhere for me to go. I watch it. I put my hand in my pocket and at the exact same moment I wrap it around the cool handle of the switchblade the doors of the DX fly open.

"Hey, kid!" Two-Bit shouts. "Managed to snag a few choice snacks for this theater viewing thing we got happening here and—"

Two-Bit must see the look on my face because he spins around and spies the Caddy.

"Pony, what is it?"

I say, "Two-Bit, get—"

The car backfires, a loud sound like a gunshot and I jump, nearly tripping over my own feet in the process. Two-Bit jogs over, his hand faster than mine; his switchblade is already out and ready.

The driver's side door cracks open and then there's Steve's loud voice, "Hey, Ms. Carson, you're right on time…" His head swivels our way. "What's with you two idiots?"

I nearly laugh as a petite black woman climbs out of the car. She gives Two-Bit and I a quizzical smile and then shakes hands with Steve. "Muffler trouble again, Mr. Randle…" she murmurs in a soft southern drawl.

Two-Bit exhales and I hear the flick of his switchblade as it closes. "Just jumpin' the gun, Stevie," Two-Bit says easily. "Don't you worry about it."

Then he puts a hand on my shoulder and steers me toward his truck.

OoO

"We're idiots," I gripe.

"Can't be too careful," my friend says and I wait for the joke, the comparison to Scooby Doo, to Keystone Kops or the Hardy Boys, but there's nothing. Just a serious voice and Two-Bit's driving.

"I mean it, kid," Two-Bit says, glancing my way. He looks older, worried; he thought the exact same thing I did. "You keep that blade close. If shit hits the fan, have it handy."

I laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Man, we need a code word or something."

Two-Bit chuckles. "Let's make it Texas."

We both get it.

OoO

Darry and Liz are arguing about something in the bedroom, their voices higher than normal. It's nearing evening, a fierce wind gushing outside. The house and window screens rattle.

I'm at the dinner table, the prosthetic catalogue now frayed and worn. I'm waiting on a call from Max, the phone dragged out from the living room and resting on an empty chair beside me. With a groan, I go back to the order form. I find the item number and flip to the item. I read the description. I read it close, trying to pick up on something I haven't before.

_Item #5513: Upper Right Arm – juvenile. Artificial below the elbow right arm. Fits ages 12-17. Specially made with durable plastic and fitted for maximum comfort, the—_

The phone rings and I snatch it up. "Max?"

"I got your list, Curtis," he says.

"Good, great…" I search for a pen, watch surreptitiously as Darry pounds through the kitchen, no sign of Liz.

"Yeah, they called about ten minutes ago. Sent it through on that stupid fax contraption. I have no fucking idea how to work it. It just keeps beeping. Finally I had Marjorie pull the damn thing off and—"

Impatient, I say, "Give it to me, Max."

There's the shuffling of paper. "Okay, okay…" he mutters. "Haven't even looked at it myself but let's see…looks like we got the orders and the names…Virginia Green…Mike Wittmer…W.J. Wentworth…and…"

I tuck the phone under my chin, pen frozen as he pauses. "Max?"

"Shit," he says. "Motherfuck."

The hairs on the back of my neck prick up. "What? Who is it? Damn it, Max!" I swear when there's nothing.

Darry rests against the counter, arms crossed, watchful.

"Dorothy Miles," Max says. "Ain't that…"

I feel sick. Then, frantically, I grasp the catalogue and turn to the order form. "What was ordered? Was it a…" I find the description, "An upper right arm, item number5513…?"

I pray it's not. That I'm wrong. That it was just Bradley Miles' mom requesting information. That he changed his mind. But I remember his words: "_I'll never wear one of those. Be fake like that. Let some sick freak do that to me." _

I squeeze my eyes shut and wait.

A long moment. I open them when Max sighs and says, "A week ago the order was placed…" Papers move. "Delivery scheduled for…shit, Curtis. Today. Delivery scheduled for today."

I slam the phone down. Stand so fast the chair flips over. Darry grabs my arm. "Whoa, what happened? What's going on?"

"It's Bradley Miles," I sputter and then before I can explain, wrap my head around it, I turn to him. "I gotta get down there, Dar. He's in trouble."

"I'll go with you," Darry says without waiting for an explanation. He moves to get his keys and jacket.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_And Nick's out with it. Whew._

_And I did research faxes…it's early but they are around. So Tulsa World has one._

_Thank you, thank you for the reads and reviews. You are all kicking my ass. In a good way._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	25. A Letter

_No cliffie this time. Rest easy._

A Letter

OoO

Things explode fast.

Darry yells after me as I take off toward the crime scene. Bradley Miles' home is already surrounded by cops and fire trucks. Yellow tape ropes off the scene. Lights flash and there's a television crew near the street unpacking their gear.

Rushing up to the house, I see Brad's mother on the front porch. Her eyes widen and she pushes past the policemen interviewing her. She flies to the fence. "Ponyboy!"

"Mrs. Miles—"

She sticks a hand through and grabs my arm. "Thank god…thank god..."

"What happened?"

"He was here and then he was gone." Dorothy Miles squeezes my forearm tight. "I know he came back. Came back and took my boy." Her face is panicked, but her voice is calm.

A car door slams and I glance over my shoulder to see Max making his way through the crowd. Darry is too, barreling through like a bulldozer. I turn back to Bradley's mother and talk fast.

"Where was he?"

"Outside. In the backyard working on his car. He was out there for near two hours and when he never came in for dinner…"

Tuning her out, I glance up, high into the sky, searching for something that isn't there.

"You gotta find him," she says and I look back at her. "Lord, he trusted you and so help me god, I do too. These men—" She gestures at the cops who are slowly descending the stairs, "Have fussed this up so bad…"

"Listen," I lower my voice. "Did you get anything delivered today? Like a package or a—"

"Yes!" she exclaims, dropping my hand. "Yes. It was on the porch when I went out to get Brad but it was open. Whatever was inside of it was gone. I've no idea what—"

"It was an arm. A prosthetic limb." I hurry on when she frowns. "You didn't order one for Brad did you?"

She shakes her head. "Never. He would have hated that."

"That's why I think—"

"Care to explain that to us down at the station?" one of the policemen asks. He's tall, with a crew cut and ruddy skin. He opens the squeaky gate and steps out.

Mrs. Miles follows. "You leave him alone, you hear. Ain't never done nothin but try to help."

"Yeah, and we're curious about that," Crew Cut says. "It's mighty odd you knew about this before we even got a chance to call it in."

"What can I say? Just good at my job I guess."

The cop glowers. "How about you come down to the station with us? Let us take your statement."

"Am I under arrest?"

"Not yet."

"This is some foolhardy business, mister," Dorothy Miles says, propping her hands on her wide hips. She wags her finger in the crew cut cop's face. "You best be thinking about my son and solvin this case. Not harassin this young man…"

As she's lecturing the cop, both Darry and Max finally manage to make it past the blockades. Max is chewing on a cigar. In his easy way he says, "What we got goin' on, Curtis?"

"They want me to go down to the station."

Max smirks. "Do they really?"

"What? Why?" Darry asks. Grabbing my shoulder, he presses me back, away from the cop.

"That's what I want to know," Mrs. Miles chimes in.

The cop scowls, too many people mixed up in this conversation for his liking. "I ain't asking," Crew Cut says. "We have reason to suspect you know more than you're letting on, perhaps even involved—"

"This is unbelievable," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Now wait just a goddamned minute," Darry snaps. "You're outta your mind if you think my brother's involved in this."

Unperturbed, Crew Cut shrugs, looking my way. "We ain't got no trouble arresting you. So why don't you make it easy on yourself and just get in the car. All we want to do is ask you a few questions."

It's such a load of bullshit I nearly laugh. There's no such thing as _a few questions_ with a cop, especially with a greaser, but I can see they won't let off of me until we talk. Which I'm either gonna go willingly or go in cuffs so I may as well stay in control.

"Fine," I sigh. "I'll go."

"Ponyboy," Darry says, worried. He grips my arm, pulling me close and keeps his voice a whisper. "Watch what you say. I'll be right behind you."

I turn to my boss. "Max," I say, but he's already on top of it.

"I'll meet you there, Curtis," Max says. "I'll meet you there with backup."

OoO

"So let me get this straight…" Crew Cut – now known as Detective Guy Walden – says, recapping everything I've told him. "You just happened to find a catalogue in a van that may or may not have belonged to the Tulsa Terror and through that managed to trace it back to Bradley Miles."

"I know it sounds crazy but that's right. That's it."

"I don't suppose you managed to get a license plate on this van?"

I had been so worried about Nick I hadn't even thought about it. Seeing my expression, Walden snorts, "I didn't think so."

Internally I count to ten, trying not to get angry. I've been in here for an hour and there's no word from Max. I'm not worried anymore about getting arrested. The cops don't have anything on me, just using this as an excuse to harass a greaser. Darry followed us down to the station but I haven't' seen him since. Now I'm sitting at a small table in a gray interrogation room. The table holds an ashtray, a pack of smokes and a Coke. I haven't touched any of it.

"So…this arm that was supposedly in this box…where did it go then?" Walden asks setting the empty WAKEFIELD PROSTHETIC box on the table. "Bradley Miles take it and run off?"

"No. No." I shake my head and rattle off my best guess. "Look, I don't know why…but the Tulsa Terror ordered it. And then he came and took Brad and took the arm."

Walden continues, pacing the room. "I find it awful convenient that you know so much about this case. That you're always two steps ahead…"

"It's called investigating," I finally snap. "Maybe if you did it too you'd actually find something. If you had listened to us about Willy Wiese in the first place we wouldn't—"

Walden 's face turns beet red and he pounds up to me, shoving me back in my chair. My head snaps back. "Don't give me that song and dance. Don't give me Willy Wiese. He's a crock."

"But he isn't," I growl. "He's been right. I've been right. And what have you all been doing? Sitting here, not doing shit, when kids are dying because you're too stupid to listen to anyone."

I straighten up as his face goes from red to purple. "We tried to tell you so many times—and your heads are still up your asses. We're not gonna wait around for our town to fall apart."

He shoves me off the chair and I hit the ground. I recognize the anger in his body, the way he tenses and know I've struck a nerve. "You trying to say that we don't care? You trying to say that, you little shit?"

An invisible hand squeezes across my back. I meet Detective Walden's eyes. "You were standing a foot away. I think you heard what I said."

I wait for it. For a swift kick or a knock to the jaw to shut me up. But there's nothing. Only Guy Walden's heavy breathing as he stares, dead-eyed.

"You're wasting time," I finally say, frustrated. "Stop worrying about me and go find Bradley Miles."

The latch moves on the door and he turns around. Another officer leads in Max and another man I don't know. The unfamiliar man looks at me on the ground, looks at Detective Walden and says, "I wasn't aware the floor was an acceptable place for an interrogation."

"I got you a lawyer, Curtis," Max says. "Jim Reno."

"Yeah, that would have come in handy about twenty minutes ago."

"He doesn't need one," Walden says, waving a hand. "He's free to go."

"Free to go or not," Jim Reno says as I stand, "You will be hearing from me. My client was falsely accused and imprisoned without being read his rights. If charges need to be filed, believe me, they will be leveled at this station…"

To me, Jim Reno says, "Your family is in the hall. Go on. I'll finish up in here."

I raise an eyebrow at Max but get the hell out of that room before anyone objects.

OoO

Darry's pacing, Soda's sitting on the floor, legs kicked out, a cigarette bobbing in his mouth. They move fast when they see me.

"It's about goddamned time," Darry says, his voice hoarse, telling me he's been yelling at someone for the last hour at least. "Max got you a lawyer?"

"Yeah. He's in there right now laying it on pretty thick."

"Good," Darry says.

Soda takes in my expression, asks, "You okay? They knock you around in there?"

"What do you think?" I rub my face and groan. "Let's just go home."

OoO

"Those bastards," Liz swears as we convene in the kitchen. "I honestly don't understand how they can haul you in and get away with it?"

"He's out. He's okay," Darry says in a clipped tone that reminds me they've been arguing earlier in the night. Turning to me, he says, "You don't talk to the cops again. Don't give them anymore ammunition."

"Yeah," I say, dropping into a chair. "Because it's _my_ fault."

"That's not what I meant, Ponyboy," Darry says, his tone softening. "You just can't trust them."

"Hell, I've been telling you that from the beginning." I smirk. "Nick and I are already on their do-not-take-seriously call list. They'll never listen to us."

"Be careful, Pony," Soda says. "The last thing we need is for you to get locked up again."

Darry frowns. "Again?"

"Figure of speech," I say. Soda bites his lip hiding a smile.

Liz makes everyone coffee, Darry gets on the phone when Two-Bit calls and starts telling him about what happened while Soda sits at the table with me. In the mess of tonight, I finally remember the real reason for all of this: Brad's gone.

OoO

"Tell me. Tell me where he is."

It's as close to a plea as I'll get. But if he asked I really would get on my knees and beg.

"Which one was he again?"

My voice cracks. "The 16-year-old. Bradley Miles. The one I found at the Mobil station. The only one who lived."

"Ahh, yes."

"Willy."

"I'll be gone before 'dis gets solved, My Boy. Long gone in the ground."

"Don't do this." I pinch the bridge of my nose, anger and desperation clawing toward the surface when I see his smirk. "Be straight with me. Just once. Listen, Willy, I vouched for you. I believe you. The least you could do is give me an idea of where he is. Anything."

Willy thinks. Says, "'Dis man, 'dis killer is playing a game. Sick in da head and angry. So very angry, My Boy. Egging you on…he wants you to put it together. He be watching you from shadows."

"What's with the arm? The prosthesis?"

"He's trying to replace something he took. Something he don't want anymore. It's just a game. Just a game."

I close my eyes. "It ain't a game."

"He took Bradley Miles because of you, My Boy."

"Yeah," I admit and it hurts. "I know. I need to find him now. Before he dies."

"You got time. You're his big prize. His finale."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Willy Wiese closes his eyes. Sways back and forth. Says, "Can't you see it? Can't you feel it?"

"See what?"

"You really should see it, My Boy. You got to have a vision." He cackles out a laugh and my body tenses. "You got to know."

I pound the table. "You forget I'm not goddamn psychic! You are!"

He grabs the sleeve of my jacket, tugging me closer. A guard shouts. His hand moves down my arm, resting on my own. "Come see when they fry me. I'll tell you den. Point you in da right direction."

"What? No. Willy, tell me now. _Please_."

"No. 'Dat night I'll tell you. I'll show you."

"I'll be there."

I pry my fingers away from his.

OoO

It haunts me.

Where is Bradley Miles? Alive? Dead? Chopped up into little pieces? My guts swirl. I can't fathom how it's come to this. The boy I tried to help, taken again. Maybe gone forever.

After seeing Willy I had gone back to Mrs. Miles to see what I had missed. In an even voice she had given me the details. She didn't cry and that made me feel even worse.

Nick writes the article about Bradley Miles for the Tulsa World. I couldn't do it. Instead of being fearful I'm angry. It's personal, I know it. The Tulsa Terror took Bradley because of me. According to Willy, some game he wants to play.

I go for a run. Back and forth across the track at Will Rogers. I don't stop for two hours. I push my body, my aching back, and for the tenth time in about a week I'm suddenly very sure about what I'm doing.

I'll find him.

OoO

"Hey Max, I'm gonna run out and—" Cutting off, I stop in my tracks.

"Come in, Curtis and shut the door."

I do. I stare. The walls of Max's office are covered in Tulsa Terror articles. Black and white news clippings are taped and tacked to every available surface. There are even photos from the crime scene, morbid photos from the medical examiner he and Nick know.

"Oh, Jesus, man," I breathe and wonder if Nick's seen this.

"What's wrong?" he drawls, cigarette smoke clouding the air in front of his face. He kicks his boots up on his desk. "Don't like the scenery?"

"Just…well, hell Max, don't you think this is a bit…extreme?"

"Nah," he says. "If we don't live this case we won't solve it. You disappoint me, Curtis. I thought you knew that."

"Yeah, but…" I take in his eyes and decide to shut my mouth. Questioning him won't change a thing although now I have my doubts about his frame of mind. I don't know what to think.

"Never mind," I say, eager to get out of there. I lay the files I brought him on top of his desk. "You got a point."

"That's my boy."

OoO

It's a basement someplace. It's dark and damp, insulation pouring out of the ceiling cracks.

A pool of blood smears the floor. The man in the uniform shows his face. I can see it but it's a blur in my periphery. He moves fast. A knife whirls. Bradley Miles mouths words and then there's a scream. But it's not his.

OoO

A light flashes on. The bed shifts.

I open my eyes as a hand pats my cheek and a voice says, "Kiddo, c'mon, wake up. Snap out of it…"

It's Soda. He watches as I take a breath and then lets out one of his own. "Don't think I ever ran so fast. Heard you from outside, as I was pulling in."

The hallway's dark. I sit up, pushing a folder and a book off of my lap. I wipe sleep from my eyes; I must have fallen asleep while re-reading the file from the Medical Examiner. The clock on my nightstand reads 7:00, its red letters bright.

"Where're Darry and Liz?"

"They went to the movies." My brother cocks his head, like he's trying to see through me. He picks up the folder and opens it. He reads and swallows hard.

I take it away from him.

OoO

Nick's outside of the Tulsa World, smoking on the sidewalk. "He's been in there all night. Door locked. I don't think he even left."

I meet his wide eyes. "Who? Max?"

"Yeah. And Marjorie ain't there either so I figured he wasn't getting laid."

I rub the back of my neck. Things sure are strange these days.

OoO

"Thanks for bringing this by, Pony," Darry says as I hand over his wallet.

"No problem." I cross my arms. "Shoot, you're getting as bad as Sodapop."

He cracks a grin and opens one of the windows near his desk. The sounds of a drill and men chattering float through, accompanied by a cool breeze. "You on your way in to work?"

I wrinkle my nose and shrug. "Not today. I need a break from that place."

"What do you mean?"

I sigh, ready to explain it away but I find I need to talk to someone. I sit down in one of the chairs. "It's Max. I think he's getting a little bit…nuts with this story." Darry looks doubtful and I hurry on, "Yeah, but Dar, it's not like me. It's…creepy. Like…_photos of dead kids nailed to the wall _that kind of creepy. He's just getting weird. Saying strange stuff. It's probably nothing but…"

"Then stay away from there," Darry says with a frown. "Work from home when you can."

"I will."

"I'm serious, Ponyboy. If Max has his issues you don't need to be around that. You got me, kiddo?"

"Yeah," I say, as there's a rap at his door and then Steve's barreling inside, followed by a pudgy electrician.

Steve gives a nod my way, then says to Darry, "Walt's finished installing the shop, we should be good to set up as soon as tomorrow. How about that?" He slaps the electrician on the back and Darry starts asking about something work related that's Greek to me.

Letting them do their business, I give a wave and slip out the back door of the trailer.

OoO

"Thanks for meeting me."

"Sure," I say, sliding into the booth.

Stubs gestures at the newspaper on the table. "You getting deeper into this, I take it?"

"Yeah," I say. "But I don't want to talk about that. How're you doin', man?"

"Gonna be hard for a real long time," he says, dark eyes steady. "But so far I'm surviving. I'm just gonna miss that woman until the end of my days."

I blink fast. "Stubs, I can't tell you how sorry I am. How much I wish I would have picked up that damn phone."

"You can't go blamin' yourself, Ponyboy. It wouldn't have changed a thing. Marie woulda done what she done." Stubs says. "I know you got a lot of guilt, kid. Flora told me what she said to you." He takes a sip of his coffee. "She's just upset. She didn't mean it."

"Maybe not but I kind of agree with her."

"Here, read this. Maybe you'll change your mind."

"What's this?" I ask, taking a white envelope from him.

"Marie left you a letter." He clears his throat and stands. Stubs clasps a hand on my shoulder. "I still haven't read mine yet."

OoO

_Ponyboy, _

_I am so sorry for this. That I am leaving you this note. Though I haven't known you for very long, sometimes I feel like I've known you the best. You're a very special boy and I thank god that you came into my life._

_I've had a great ride but it's come to a point where the pain is so intense. The voices so loud and I'm all out of pride. You may not understand and that's fine. I'm not asking for that._

_I want you to look out for Stubs. Look out for yourself. I should follow my own words but it's too late. But I want you to, Ponyboy, because I know you're struggling with something dark. I can see that. Ask for help when you need it. Trust that those who love you will come through. If you can't solve what's got you, you call them. _

_Everything heals. Know this._

_I've had a wonderful life and it's time for my next world. _

_Marie_

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thanks as always for reading. More to come._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	26. A Gamble

_No cliffie this time either. Man, I'm spoiling you._

A Gamble

OoO

I don't know what to do with Marie's letter. There's more truth in it than she probably knew. I've been trying hard to let my brothers in and I feel good on where we at. I'm just weary about losing it. That deep foreboding fear Willy's been warning me about. I keep trying to let go of it and hold onto it at the same time.

OoO

One wet, rainy week later a body is found.

OoO

"You really, really, really, really, really, really—"

"Two-Bit," Darry warns, not in the mood.

"REALLY gotta sit down, Ponyboy. Please," Two-Bit moans. "You're making me dizzy, kid."

"Staying there all day ain't gonna make it ring, Ponyboy," Darry says, shaking out his newspaper. But he watches me with a wary eye. "Why don't you go to a movie or something?"

"Yeah, kid," Two-Bit says. "I hear there's a good flick over at the Roosevelt. Deep Threat. Or something."

"You're way off, Two-Bit," Darry says, a chuckle in his voice. "Way, way off." He looks at me. "Ponyboy, you're working yourself up. Calm down."

I sit on the couch, stick my hands between my knees. The body gets identified today; Nick and Max down at the morgue ready to call as soon as an ID is made. Bradley Miles has been missing for two weeks. If he's alive, I can't imagine how.

"I don't know what I'll do if it's him."

OoO

An hour later everyone's over for dinner when the phone rings. Dropping my fork, I leap up to grab it. "Hello?" I ask, wedging myself into a corner of the living room. The scraping of utensils and chatter slowly dies out. I steel myself and listen.

When Nick finishes, I drop the phone back onto the cradle.

"Well?" Soda's asking. He's the only one standing, ready to make a beeline should I need it. Everyone else just sits very still. "Ponyboy?"

I take a gulp of air. The buzz in my head sounds as I say, "It's another boy. It's not him. It's not Brad."

Kathy closes her eyes and Two-Bit puts an arm around her shoulders.

OoO

"Thanks for meeting me here, Ponyboy."

"Of course." I sit beside her on the bench and stare out at the frozen lake. "How're you doing?"

Mrs. Miles sniffles. "I keep thinkin' about him, you know? I just pray to god he's still alive."

"He is," I say. "They haven't—" I stop myself just in time from saying, _they haven't found a body_, and instead say, "No news is good news."

She turns to look at me and grabs my bare hands with her gloved ones. "You've been a dear heart. Helping Bradley and now me."

"Mrs. Miles, I'm just—"

"Will you find him for me, Ponyboy?"

"What?"

"Please. Find my boy. Find my Bradley."

"Mrs. Miles," I say helplessly. "I'll try but I—I don't know if I can do that…"

"You can. I know it." She squeezes my hands and begs, "Please. Promise me."

Wind howls and I blink, closing my eyes briefly as Brad's face flashes in my mind. When I look at his mother, at Dorothy Miles, I already know what I'm going to say.

OoO

"You got mail, Curtis." Max slaps an already-opened envelope on top of my stack of files. It's addressed to me. Max's eyes are bloodshot; I'm surprised he's not wearing his dark sunglasses.

"Mail fraud's a felony, Max," I say, reaching for it.

He cracks out a laugh as I begin to read. "I think we got more important things to worry about, don't you, Curtis?"

The letter goes:

_P.M. Curtis seaks Bradley Miles. He wants 2 see you as bad as eye do. Time to meet. Tonight, Five, Saint Nicolas Cathedral. Know harm to ether._

Folding it back up, I slap the letter on the desk. "He can't spell worth shit."

"That's all you gotta say?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say you'll meet him."

I sit back to gawk, unable to fathom what's running through that crazy brain of his. "Jesus, you can't be serious."

"I oughta be asking you that exact same question," Max snaps. "This is your big chance. Don't you want to save that kid?"

"Yeah but…it's a trap, Max," I say. "Or it could be some sort of copycat. Some idiot just out to cause trouble. We don't even know if it's the real Tulsa Terror or not."

"So let me get this straight…you're willing to pass this up, to let Bradley Miles go just because you ain't sure?"

I pause, think of Dorothy Miles, and say, "I don't know what's goin' on. Just that this is dangerous. I want to find Brad just as much as anyone but—"

"So go," Max says. "I'll call my contact on the force, we'll get the cops on our side and they'll be there tonight when you go. We'll get you backup, Curtis."

"Backup, huh?" I consider this, remembering Jim Reno. I eye the clock.

"Go on, Curtis. Take a gamble for once in your life."

"Max," I say, standing. "I thought that's what I've been doin' ever since I went to work for you."

OoO

I wish I had time to go visit Willy at the state penitentiary to run the letter by him but I don't. And against my better judgment, I take a gamble. I agree with Max. Besides, he's come through before, with the lawyer. I scribble the address of the church on a piece of paper.

I pick up the phone to call Darry. Ever since Marie's letter, her words have been running through my mind. My brothers trust me to keep them in the loop. I can do that.

There's no answer at the house or Darry's work. I try Liz's office but she's gone for the day. In fact, everyone I try is gone. Steve's with Darry, Soda's done with his shift at the DX, even Two-Bit's house is silent. I have him paged at work but I'm on hold for so long I give up waiting.

Max pokes his head in my office as I'm hanging up.

"We're good to go. They'll set up and stakeout. They want you down there at five o'clock and inside."

I toss the paper with the address on it into the trash.

"Hey, do me a favor, will ya?" I scribble a number down on a fresh sheet of paper and stand up. "Keep trying my brothers. Let them know where I'm going."

Max cocks a brow but just says, "Sure thing, Curtis. I'll call 'em."

OoO

No sign of anyone outside except a bright yellow taxicab parked across the street and a white bucket truck with a rusted lift about a block away.

The church is a two-story cathedral. It always stood out in our town for being too gaudy. It's still used but tonight it's deserted. A sign out front says CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE REPAIRS but I push through the front door, which is coincidentally unlocked.

Slowly, carefully, I scour the bottom floor, moving through the wooden pews and confessionals. The church is eerie in the dark glow, candles the only flickering source of light. I remember the funerals of my parents, of Johnny and Dal, thinking about how it seems so long ago, until I realize I've made it up onto the second floor balcony.

With a glance behind me, I wind down the long corridor. I stop at the edge of the balcony, wrapping my hands around the rickety hand-carved railing. As I stare down at the insides of the church, I realize something is wrong. Really wrong.

It's dead silent. It's past five. I get it then.

There are no cops. Max never called anyone.

He wanted the story for himself, for the paper, and wanted me to do the dirty work. I should have known him going to the cops was a lie, he'd never let them touch this case. I wonder how I could have been so stupid but I know how. I wanted the story too.

I'm ready to get the hell out of there when there's a scuffling in the shadows. A burnt crackling sounds and I smell electricity. A dark figure stands on the second floor balcony, not more than ten feet away. Everything goes silent at that moment, my brain buzzing a warning.

I back up, toward the railing, the backs of my legs hitting it and I stop. The figure skulks forward. I recognize the knife in his right hand but do a double-take when I see what's in his left. I try to backtrack but instead I find the Tulsa Terror pointing his left hand at my chest.

I throw my hands up.

Something cracks before he can touch me and then I'm falling.

OoO

"Oh god…"

"Curtis…Curtis…c'mon, you gotta wake up…"

I roll onto my shoulder, onto shards of sharp wood, twisting as my back spasms.

"Aw, shit, I fell…"

"Yeah, I saw you take that dive, man. Jesus, are you okay?"

"What're you doin' here?"

I suck in a breath. All I can think of is how lucky I am that the balcony railing gave way. The other option wasn't something I was really looking forward to. Nick's squatting next to me on the ground.

"Christ—"

"Stop," Nick says. "Stop movin' around." His breath is shallow in the dark. "Max wouldn't tell me where you were—"

"He's an asshole," I grit out.

"Yeah. Yeah I know he is….Anyway, I found an address when I was goin through your trash and figured I'd take a stab at it."

I laugh, "Why were you goin through my trash, man?"

"That's a story for another day," Nick says and I hear the smile in his voice. "But you better believe I'm sure glad I did….Curtis…?"

He fades out.

The blackness clears from my eyes as there's the sudden squeak of a door, a crunching noise and then Nick's saying, "Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for calling," a deep voice says.

There's a hand on the back of my neck and then Darry's saying, "Let's get you outta here, Ponyboy."

OoO

"I'm okay, Dar," I say as my brother helps me up.

"No, you're not," he says, his face so dark I can't even argue. Nick follows us out of the church, says a quick goodbye.

Darry holds onto me until we get to the truck. I flop across the seat, closing my eyes with a wince. A hand brushes my face and then we're driving.

"I tried to call you."

"Ponyboy—"

"I did, Dar. I had Max call too and—"

"Max?"

"Yeah."

He's quiet and I sit up best as I can.

"He knew where you were?" Darry asks.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I saw him today."

"When?"

Darry's knuckles are white, clenched around the wheel. The muscle in his jaw bulges. "After work. I went down there because Liz told me you had left her a message, Two-Bit too, and – and he told me he didn't know where you were."

I close my eyes. "I'm such an idiot. He told me he had the cops behind this. That he called and—Jesus, I'm an idiot."

"I'm going to kill him," Darry says. "I'm gonna kill that sonofabitch." He slams a hand against the steering wheel and it shakes.

I lean back against the seat. I think I'll let him.

OoO

"A stick?" Darry repeats.

"What kind of stick?" Soda asks, coming back from the kitchen. He hands me a glass of water and a handful of aspirin and then drops next to me on the couch.

I think about it too long because Steve Randle speaks up, trying to help me out for once in my life. "It was electrical?" Steve, having been at the house with Sodapop ever since Darry and I returned, had instantly pulled up a chair to listen to the conversation.

"Yeah. It was long and—"

"Did it look like a wand, kid?"

Curious, I look at Steve. "Yeah. That's right."

"What are you thinking?" Soda asks Steve.

"Well, hell," Steve says. "We've been on enough farms…I'd say it sounds like a shock prod. Remember your dad's friend Vic Thompson?"

"Yeah," Darry says slowly. "He'd use it on the cattle."

Soda makes a face and I say, "Brad said there was some sort of burning smell. That had to be it. I smelled it tonight."

"Why'd you go, Ponyboy?" Soda asks and though his voice is steady he looks pissed. "Why would you go down there?"

I look at my hands. "If there was any chance of finding Brad I thought this would be it. I mean, hell Sodapop, his mom asked me to."

Darry speaks up. "His mom doesn't know this guy has it in for you personally. She can't ask you to do that."

"I know. I know it was stupid."

"Smartest thing kid's said all night," Steve says, standing up and running a hand through his hair. He goes into the kitchen and I hear beer bottles clink around.

I pull my legs up on the couch, leaning back against my brother. "I tried to call you. I really did."

It figures; the one time I try to plan something, to actually be responsible and it's an even worse mess. But still…I think of Marie's letter and know I did the right thing.

Soda rubs the back of my head. "We know you did, kiddo."

I don't miss the dark look that passes between him and Darry.

OoO

The next morning I wake up to a shrill sound in my brain. It takes a minute for it to process until I realize it's Liz shrieking. Scrambling out of bed, I plow into the hallway, into the wall, and enter the living room just in time to see Darry grab Max's arm, spin him around and slam him through the closed screen door, the mesh and frame shattering.

Liz follows him out, her face screwed up in shock and anger. "Darry, stop! STOP!"

"Oh shit!"

I run after all of them.

OoO

Barefoot, I slide to a stop on the grass. I wave my hands at my oldest brother but I doubt he sees me. "Darry! NO! NO!

Darry slams a fist into Max's jaw. Max staggers but doesn't fall over. Liz stands close to the porch, her hands pressed into her mouth.

Darry hits him again.

Gripping the front of Max's shirt, Darry drags him toward the street and throws him up against the side of his car. Blood drips from Max's nose, his right eye swollen and ugly.

"You almost let my brother walk into something he couldn't walk out of! And you come by my house asking where he is, _how_ he is? How the hell do you _think he is_?" Darry draws his arm back ready to land another punch.

I groan and rush up to Darry before he can do anymore damage to my current employer. "Dar—" is all I manage to get out before Darry's elbow comes back and sharply catches me in the shoulder.

"Shit, kid," Darry swears before grabbing my arm in one swift motion and gently moving me aside like a bag of flour. His other hand is still wrapped around the front of Max's shirt.

"Darry, stop it." I grip my brother's bicep, the muscle tense underneath. "C'mon. It's okay. Leave it alone."

Clinching his jaw, Darry looks at Max and says, "You put my brother in danger again and next time it's just us. Next time you won't walk away from this. You goddamn got that?"

Darry gives Max a hard shake and releases him.

OoO

Liz doesn't say anything when we come inside. She just goes inside the bedroom and slams the door shut.

Darry's knuckles are bloody and shredded. I disappear into the bathroom and come out with a first aid kit and some rubbing alcohol. "I think this is a first," he says with a chuckle. "It's usually you or Soda in this position."

I watch him carefully; unable to tell if the spark in his eyes is still from anger or that post-rumble energy we'd always get after a big fight.

"Dar," I say as he squeezes a fist together. "You didn't have to do that. It was my fault as much as Max's."

He sits at the table with me. "I know it was, Ponyboy. And I shouldn't have lost it like that…but…but then Max came by this morning. He just knocked on the door and asked how it all turned out. _How it turned out_." Darry sounds disgusted. "He didn't even care what happened, he just wanted his next article and if you were collateral damage than so be it. He'd find someone else."

I uncap the alcohol. "Yep. That sounds like Max."

Another door slams in the house – this time it's the front. Liz's car starts up outside.

Briefly, Darry moves his head toward the sound but he keeps speaking. "You do a damn good job for that paper, Ponyboy. Max, as a boss, is shit. He should be protecting you, not setting you up."

He sucks in a breath when I touch a swab of alcohol to his torn knuckle. "Hell, I thought you reporters had ethics."

Not many, I think.

My brain tries to do the same old rationalization is always does but this time it just won't work. I love my job but Max can't be a part of it. I've always been proud of what I do. But I don't want to turn into some slime ball, lying and hurting others to get a story. I know if I stick with Max, if I go down his path, I will.

"Dar," I speak slowly. "I knew Max was a lot of things but I didn't know I couldn't trust him. And that's the worst of it. And Nick…whatever he did, despite that, I'd trust him over Max any day." My brother's quiet. I finish bandaging up Darry's hand, ripping the tape off clean. "You're right though," I say. Darry looks surprised, looks up and at me but doesn't say anything.

"After this is over…this story, I'm done. I can't work with Max anymore. I'm out. I'll quit the World."

I promise it for myself as much as I do for my brothers.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Whew, that chapter felt action-packed._

_Anyway. Pony's going to get beat up a lot these next few…well, just say through the end of the story. So wheee! _

_Thanks for reading and reviewing. _

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	27. A Gun

_BIG cliffhanger. I mean it._

A Gun

OoO

I stay away from the paper.

Nick says I'm still employed, that Max wants me on the story but that I'm pretty much a free agent now. According to Nick, Max is wearing extra-dark sunglasses, courtesy of Darry.

And though no one says anything, I feel it. Closeness between all of us. Relieved my by promise to quit the paper, Darry's tension eases. Soda still comes by and stays over but he's happy when I tell him. Though everything seemed like it was falling apart, it really feels like it's coming all together.

Steve brings pictures of electrical prods over and shows me them like they're flashcards.

Willy Wiese is only alive for a few more days.

OoO

It's our last meeting.

"I sure enjoyed 'dese," Willy says as time winds down. A guard taps on the door.

Nervous, I sit up in the chair. For the last hour he's given me nothing about Brad or the case, instead asking me questions about my life or telling me about his. Now he'll be gone in less than five minutes and that'll be it.

"Willy, please—"

"Nothin, My Boy. Not yet." He wags a finger. "Remember you gotta come to me to get it. Although I do got _somethin_. It's 'bout you."

"Me?"

"Remember when you brought me dat hat? Tried to fool me? Well, I saw it again. Dat dark place. You be goin' 'dere soon."

"I don't suppose you can tell me anything about that?"

He closes his eyes and twitches, jerking this way and that. "I see – I see two things…dark men and a dark _man_. Both are important to the story. Both will get you, My Boy. Only one may be da true end."

I don't even ask for more. Because I know by now. I get what I get and nothing else.

There's another tap on the door. "Willy," I ask, rushed. "How do you do it?"

He smiles that ugly smile of his. "Why? Believing ain't enough? You got to have da proof?"

"No," I say. "I'm a believer, you got me. But…but it'd sure be nice to take something away from this. Hell, Willy you're dead in less than 48 hours. You're taking your secret to your grave. Besides, I wouldn't be a reporter if I didn't ask."

"Can't explain my mind," Willy drawls. "Alls I know is that I get da flashes of light and den a picture. Just a little flash. I can't call 'dem up. Dey come when dey're beckoned…"

"Just a minute," I shout as the guard taps on the door again. I turn back to Willy.

With a creepy smile he says, "All my life I been havin 'dem. Ugly pictures. Dark things. Things you only see in your dreams. But me, I'm made of dreams. I was_ born_ a dream. And I could never get away from dem no matter how hard I pulled against da binds. Maybe dats why I am like I am. I killed to escape. But it didn't help me none." He cracks his knuckles. "But looks like da dreams be stopping soon."

"Are you scared?"

"I may be goin down, down to the ground but it be my purpose. I be a bad man. And you know too many of dose, My Boy."

The guard opens the door and whistles. "Let's go."

I look at a face I'll never see again in my life. I don't know what to say to him. So I just say, "Thank you."

"Friday night," Willy says. "I give you my last words."

"I'll be there."

He sticks a hand out. After a minute, I shake it.

"It's been nice knowing you, My Boy. Very nice."

I swallow the lump in my throat as the sliminess crawls through my stomach.

OoO

I catch my oldest brother that night. He's in the bathroom shaving, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Darry…"

"What is it, kiddo?" He rinses his razor, wipes shaving cream off his face. When I don't say anything, he frowns. "You okay, Pone?"

"Something's gonna happen, Dar."

The frown deepens. "What's goin on, Ponyboy?"

I prop a hand in the door frame. "Willy said something. About…" I hesitate, prepared to feel very stupid, but I need to tell him. Because I don't doubt Willy Wiese. And I promised my brothers. "About…the dark men."

Darry's voice is hard. Business-like. "What else?"

"That they're coming back. That they'll get me."

Darry's eyes move as the front door opens, Two-Bit's and Steve's voice ringing loud and clear. Liz murmurs a soft greeting from the living room. Darry sets the razor on the sink and says, "Home and work. That's it, Ponyboy. I mean it."

OoO

"I swear I ain't as good as I once was," Two-Bit says.

Steve scowls. "You're such a lying sack of shit." He shields his cards. "You've always known how to play, Mathews."

"Maybe when I was a younger man."

Soda laughs, his hand hovering in the air, the final card being lowered. "You ready for the river, Two-Bit?"

I barely see my brother slap down the ace. Two-Bit lets out a whoop, jumping out of his seat and grabbing his beer to take a long swig. Steve swears, "I goddamn knew it." He throws his cards across the table.

Darry comes out of the bedroom. "She still mad at you?" Soda asks, raising his beer.

"She's been mad at me for the last week," Darry mutters, sinking into his recliner. His eyes meet mine and I have to bite back a smirk. Liz has been pissed at the both of us – Darry for beating the shit out of Max and me for going down to the church alone.

"Man, I wish I could've been there," Soda says with a yawn and smile. He reaches over to ruffle my hair.

Darry just watches us. Worries.

OoO

Two-Bit finds me on the porch later that night. He leans against the railing. "You ready for tomorrow?"

"I don't know. Maybe." I bury my face in my hands. My voice comes out muffled. "I'm worried, man."

"Worried? 'Bout what, Pone?"

"Everything." I look at my friend. "I don't think I can do this by myself. With Wiese gone…"

In that instant I'm so nervous. Wiese deserves to die. He's an awful person…and yet I've known him for over seven months. He's fucked with my mind and my sanity but he's helped more than anyone with this case. And tomorrow he dies. Tomorrow, I go see him executed and if he doesn't give me what I need I'll lose Bradley Miles at the same time.

"Heck," Two-Bit says. "You're the one doin' it, Ponyboy. I don't know why you'd think differently."

"He just _knows_, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit grunts _bullshit_ and sticks a cigarette between his lips He doesn't light it, instead playing with his stolen BIC.

"Did I ever tell you why I quit? Cigarettes?"

"I assumed it was because you were trying to watch your figure."

I smile and say, "It was because of Willy. He warned me. About some dark hole comin' at me. Swallowing me up. And you know, I thought it was cancer." I laugh and touch my chest. "I really did. I even went to see Kathy down at St. Joe's and made her run a scan after I started coughing up blood."

Two-Bit frowns at this but I continue; talking fast, yet measured, because I have to get it out.

"So I quit because I didn't want to take the chance. And after awhile I forgot about his warning. And then…then I went to see him on the morning of your wedding. That's why I was really late." I rub my eyes. "He pissed me off, said something about my mom and….I was driving and I thought screw it and went for a smoke."

"They were on the floor. I kept digging around, trying to find them when I almost plowed into a semi. My car hit ice and hit the ditch. And when I climbed out, there it was. On the side of the truck – Oklahoma City Wholesale, the O in the whole was colored in dark. Like a spot."

I shrug. Two-Bit's gone quiet, just the sound of his light breathing as he listens.

"Maybe it's too literal or just a coincidence and it doesn't matter. But…the only thing I know is that in his own, vague way, he was right. Willy is right. He is – was – psychic."

"Kid…" Two-Bit begins.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this. You don't have to believe me….I think I just wanted you to know I'm not crazy."

"Hell," Two-Bit says with a slight smile. "Everyone knows Soda's the crazy one."

"Yeah." I wrap my hands around the railing.

"Pony," Two-Bit says. I glance his way and see that he believes me. He doesn't even need to say it because it's clear on his face. He throws his unlit smoke into the yard. "You want me to go with you tomorrow? To that execution thing-y?"

I laugh; leave it to Two-Bit to make it sound like carnival ride. But thankful, I nod and say, "Yeah. Yeah I do."

OoO

Darry's watching the morning news and muttering. I see it's on the weather, the local newscaster pointing at thick, dark clouds brewing. "This goddamn winter," Darry says to no one in particular. "I don't think it'll ever end. I remember when it used to be easy and quick. Now it goes on forever…"

I snort and clap him on the shoulder. "You sound like dad, when he'd get on one of his rants."

I shoulder my bag and Darry says, "Remember what I said. Straight to work and wait for Two-Bit tonight." He crosses his arms. "You sure you're okay doin' this? Going to that…"

"Dar, I gotta." I nod, tying to ease my nerves. I have a full day at the Tulsa World, the execution is at 8pm. I'll get the scoop on Bradley and see Willy go.

What a life.

OoO

At three, Max pops his head in my office. "Back again?"

"How's the eye?"

"It'll be better as soon as you get me a goddamned story, Curtis."

"Jesus, Max." I sigh. "You set me up, man. What am I supposed to do?"

"You still gotta work for me, Curtis."

"I do. But I ain't gotta like you."

"Fair enough," Max says.

OoO

The phone rings at six and right as I reach, right as I grab it up, a man gives a knock on the glass window. He sidles along the corner, lingering in the doorway of my office. "Hey buddy," I say, sticking the phone under my chin, "Sorry, we're closed to the public right now..." The man hovers. I turn my attention to the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey kiddo! I was wondering when you were going to grace us with your presence since the time is nigh…or some shit like that."

"Two-Bit," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Where are you? You're late. Don't tell me you forgot."

There's a laugh in the background – Soda murmuring something low and then Two-Bit chuckles. I should have known; time never means anything to Soda and Two-Bit.

"I'm just screwin with you Pone. I'm merely wasting a few minutes at your humble abode and then I'll set sail for…"

I sit up, Two-Bit's voice a mere distraction, as the man puts a finger to his lips and opens his black coat to reveal a gun. "Say goodbye...nice and easy."

He levels the gun, keeps it low in front of his waist so it can't be seen through the glass windows. I stare at him for a long moment until he waves the gun, motioning for me to hurry it up. The buzz sounds in my brain and I try to think fast.

"Hey, uh, Keith, man…I have to pass on dinner. I have some stuff to finish up here…Can you tell mom I'll be late?"

Long silence and then, confused, Two-Bit says, "Hey, uh, Pony, I hate to break it to you but—"

"Listen…" Aware of the man's eyes on me I keep my voice even and steady. "Just tell mom and dad that my friend came in from Texas and that I'll be a few hours late tonight."

A pause, then—

"Sure, kid. I'll tell them."

I hang up.

"Good boy." The man gestures with his gun. "Let's go, Mikey."

OoO

This time it's not a Cadillac but a Lincoln Continental that's waiting. The man shoves me in, ties my hands together and then we're on the freeway out of town. He doesn't blindfold me and I take that as a bad sign.

OoO

"Look, listen," I say, twisting in my seat, trying to loosen the blinds. Trying to get to my blade. The NOW EXITING TULSA sign whizzes past us. "I'm not trying to cause any trouble for you…"

"Hey," the man shouts, checking me out in the rearview mirror. "Youse stop wiggling around back there."

I freeze. The ties stay tight and I curse lowly. The buzz begins to sound in my head; the one that tells me I'm usually screwed. I try again. I don't recognize the man; he's not one from the Miami crew that I'd know.

"I told Big Sal and Carmine I wouldn't talk and I haven't. I haven't said shit. Rosie knows that. Just ask Rosie."

The man's bushy eyebrow rises. "Rosie? Who says I'm here for that broad? I'm here for Mr. Trafficante."

Head swimming, stomach dropping into my feet, I end up vomiting onto the floor of the car.

OoO

It's dark when we slow down, gravel clinking the hood and sides of the car. Finally we stop and the man cuts the engine. We've probably been driving for about an hour. The dark man climbs out and pops open my door.

"Move."

Roughly, I'm pulled out of the car, hands released from the ties. The world spins, and I see we're in the middle of a field. What field, I'm not sure. We could be lost for all I know. But the way the man marches me out into the grass tells me he knows exactly what he's doing.

It's snowing, and it's colder than it was in January. I remember Darry bitching about the weather this morning and it's all I can do to stay together. I shiver. My teeth chatter. I should run but there's nowhere to go. Just empty field. The minute I try to get away is the minute it's all over. I need every second I can.

I'm jerked back and told to stop. "Down on your knees," the man says.

"Please," I say.

"Get down," he says. "Face that way. Hands behind your head."

I hit the ground and do what he says. I raise my hands, my back lengthening out in pain. I've never felt so sick. I'm going to die. Out here in this field and no one will ever find my body. I'll never find Bradley Miles. I close my eyes at the irony of it all; Willy and I are going to die on the same night.

I'm going to miss his execution. I'll never hear his final words. No one will ever save Bradley Miles. And it will all keep going…I wonder if the Tulsa Terror will ever get caught—

"Wait!" I shout as the barrel presses against the back of my head. I try to twist around to face him. "Why are you doing this? Ask Vinny, he knows I didn't say anything. I wouldn't – I haven't."

"Boss can't take that chance," the man grunts.

I dip forward, hands flat on the earth. I take a shuddering breath. "Jesus, please. I'm not ready to do this yet."

"That's a fool's wish, Mikey," the man says. He cocks his gun, the sound loud in the still night air. "No one ever is."

Sliding my right hand in front of me, I wrap it around a handful of cold, unfrozen dirt. I gather a healthy amount in my fist and—

Headlights. The forest in front of us is lit up by a bright yellow glow. The man says, "What the fuck?" and I twist around, releasing the dirt and gravel into his face.

"I'm gonna kill you for that you little rat bastard!"

I go for my blade.

He brays and flails but his aim is dead on. He ends up kicking me in the stomach before I can get to the blade in my pocket. Managing to hold onto his gun, he backhands me across the face. I spit blood in the dirt.

A shot rings out but it's not from the gun of the man. In all the commotion we had forgotten about the Cadillac that's just pulled up and the three dark bodies that have emptied from it.

OoO

They leave the headlights on and I wince against the harsh light, holding up a hand to shade the glare.

Big Sal and Carmine stand shoulder to shoulder and then part like a curtain, letting Rosie Trafficante pass through. She's in heels I can't hear, a black trench coat, and her hair's up in a high bun. Black leather gloves on her hands.

"Rosie?" The man sputters. "What are you doin here? Your father send you?"

"My father does not _send me_, Vito," Rosie sniffs. "Break it down for him, Big Sal." To me, she says, "How you been, Mikey?"

"A lot better than this."

She trills out a laugh.

Big Sal says, "Vinny had a change of heart, Vito. Wants Rosie to take care of Mikey."

"I'm confused, I thought this was my job…" Vito lowers the gun but looks doubtful. "Where's Luca? He shoulda been here. Told me 'bout this."

I don't know who Luca is but I take it to be his partner. Everyone has partners these days; Sal and Carmine, Darry and Steve, me and Nick. Only we don't try to kill each other and stuff bodies in trunks.

"Keeping secrets is hard if more than a handful of people know." Rosie holds up her gloved hand and wiggles her fingers. She looks at me. "Get up."

I do.

"Well, what're we goin to do with him?" Vito asks. "He's liable to be a snitch and Vinny wants him dealt with."

"First we get rid of any evidence we were ever even here. Ain't that right, Carmine?"

Carmine nods and raises a gun.

Vito's forehead explodes.

OoO

"Sorry for the mess, Mikey," Big Sal is saying when I open my eyes. He wipes blood from his jacket and then bends down. He begins dragging the lifeless body of Vito toward the trunk of the Cadillac, leaving a long blood trail in the grass.

It doesn't take long for me to figure it out. "Vinny really didn't call him off, did he?" I ask.

"He's good," Carmine says with a smile, jutting the gun my way. "Didn't I tell you he's good?"

"I already knew that," Rosie says. She moves close. "If anyone's gonna kill you, it's gonna be me."

"You know I'd never talk, Rosie. You left me this long. You know that."

"Maybe so." Her eyes flicker to Carmine. "But I can't take that chance."

"Please. My brothers—my family. I can't leave them like this."

Something soft moves in her eyes but before she can respond, Carmine cracks out a laugh. "And just when I thought you were getting it, Mikey," he says. "Do you know how many people have said that exact same thing? How many people have got down on their knees and begged us? Cried for their mothers? And do you know how many people we've put bullets into their brains? Every single one. You ain't nothing special kid."

Big Sal comes clomping back over, the trunk left open on the Caddy. No doubt meant for me.

"Want me to do it, Ro?" Carmine asks.

"No," she says. She pulls out her own gun from the small of her back. "Oh, and Carmine?"

"What?"

"Call me Ro again and I will empty this gun into your fucking face. I am your boss. Not your girl. Got that?"

Carmine blinks. Says, "Got it, Ms. Trafficante."

She smiles and turns back to me. "Any last requests?"

"Yeah," I say. "Do you know what time it is?"

Surprise crosses her face but she checks out the thin gold watch on her wrist. "Nine-oh-two." Rosie sighs. "I can't imagine why you'd want to know that right now, Mikey. But then again you've always been a strange kid."

Willy's dead. It's cold out and he's dead. So am I.

Rosie steps closer, until our chests are almost pressed together. The gun digs into my side. I feel the heat from her skin, smell her minty breath. Her lips brush against my ear and she whispers, "My father found you out. He wants you dead. Only I'm in charge. He just doesn't know it yet. And I'm not killing my guys for you, Mikey, to cover this up. But between us, we're the only ones who know you're alive. And I'll never talk. Because of Donnie. I do love you, Mikey. In a weird way."

She slaps my face as my eyes drift downwards to the gun jabbed into my stomach. "Concentrate, goddamnit. I'm telling you sweet nothings."

"Sorry," I snap. "It's kind of hard when there's a handgun pointed in my general direction."

"That's the spirit," she says and I meet her dark eyes.

Rosie smiles. "But if you're dead, this all comes off the table. My men, my father, never think about you again. They never come back here. They never even remember the _stink_ that is Tulsa. They do what I tell them to do. No questions. No memory. Got that? So now I need you to do something for me…"

Rosie raises the gun, takes a step away. Before I can make sense of what she's saying, her finger's on the trigger. A steely, cold muzzle is lowered next to my my temple. Her voice is still low, just for us to hear.

"I need you to play dead, Mikey. This time, be dead."

"Rosie—no—don't—"

The gun fires next to my head.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Get ready for the crazy. _

_And yes. Based on the last chapter's comments, we're all sadists when it comes to Pony angst. But as long as I can coat it in a decent story then it's justifiable right? RIGHT?_

_Ahem._

_Thank you for the fantastic reviews and reads. Keep it up._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	28. A Death

_No cliffie. Read on._

A Death

OoO

It's cold. Everything is.

The hard ground, the snow in my hair, dampness on my face.

There's the crunch of gravel, doors slamming and then shouting. A lot of shouting.

OoO

When I come to a few seconds later, the earth is shifting. Somewhere in the distance an owl hoots.

"They shot him. They shot my brother. They shot him. Jesus Christ, they shot him..."

"Soda…c'mon, Sodapop, you got to let me look at him…let me—"

Arms wrap around me. Someone's crying. I try hard; I swim back up through the surface of blurry vision and do the only thing I can. I let out a groan. The arms tighten.

"Darry!"

The voice is loud. Frantic. "What? What is it?"

"He's breathing. Aw, Jesus. Aw, Dar, he's—"

"Give him to me."

There's a hand in my hair, feeling, poking prodding. Groaning again, I roll over someone's leg, only to land on my shoulder in the frozen grass, Vito's blood trail next to my face.

"Pony, can you hear me?"

The voices are distant. My ears ring. I open my eyes as I'm turned over onto my back. Darry's staring down at me, his ice blue eyes wide and frightened.

"Hey," I manage to croak out. Soda makes a choking noise and says something I don't hear.

"Jesus Christ." Darry's voice breaks. "We thought you were dead, Ponyboy."

"I ain't—I ain't—"

I cough and Darry gently helps me sit up. Soda wraps his DX jacket around my shoulders. I shake my head like there's water in my ears, trying to clear it. The sky is dark and everything comes flashing back. Rosie and her gun.

There's wetness near my temple, in my hair. I touch my temple and frown at my red hand.

"Was I shot?"

"I don't know," Darry says, fear evident in his voice. "I need to take a look at you, kiddo."

"I don't feel shot," I say, and my voice sounds far away.

"We gotta get him home," Soda says. "Now, Darry. Right the fuck now."

"They're not gonna come back..." I say tiredly. "It's all over—"

They're not listening. Darry turns me over in his arms and picks me up. "I got him. You get the car, Soda."

OoO

Darry drives the entire way home with the dome light on. He drives home at about 90 MPH too and the world spins. Soda's crouched on his knees in the seat, hovering over me. He brushes hair away from my temple, his long fingers inspecting carefully.

"There's nothing," he announces, drawing back, blood on his hands, under his nails. "No bullet wound."

Darry gives him a surprised glance. "Nothing?"

I touch my ear, feel the blood there and frown. I remember Rosie's words and it makes sense. It was all just a set-up to get both of us out of it. She never was going to kill me; but if she didn't show Carmine and Big Sal that I was dead this never would have been over. Now they can honestly tell Vinny Trafficante that I am dead. They saw it with their own eyes. I just wonder what Rosie's game was.

"—gun, Pone?"

"What?"

"She had a gun?" Soda asks.

"Yeah. She raised it, right here…" I point to my right temple. "And…" I trail off, finished.

"Blanks," Darry abruptly says, putting it together fast and I immediately think he would've been the better journalist. "You were too close to it Pony, it knocked you out."

Blackness swirls in my vision, my ears ring. Leaning my head back against the seat I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes.

OoO

They get me out of the truck and everything rushes back. I empty my guts up onto our front lawn before the lights die in my vision.

OoO

Low voices, Darry saying, "…on their way over…"

I open my eyes and I'm on the couch. I catch a glimpse of Liz as she's leaving the room. "How'd you know?" I ask. "How'd you know where I was?"

Darry, coming out of the kitchen, stops and pales. "Soda..."

Soda's on the floor next to the couch. He twists around, facing me, and pulls himself up on his knees. He grasps my arm. "Pony. Listen."

Knowing I'm about to be hit with something big, something I won't like, I push myself up and take a breath. My brother doesn't let go of me. "What happened? What is it?"

"Nick knew what to do," Soda says. "It was his idea. Pony, we had no clue where in the hell they had taken you. Christ, kid, it could have been any place, and we were so fucking scared—"

He's delaying. I tug back and watch his worried face. "Soda, tell me. Just tell me."

"I went and saw Willy Wiese."

It's worse than I thought.

"Oh god, Soda, tell me you didn't."

"Pony, I had to."

I close my eyes. The last thing I wanted was Willy Wiese messing with my brother's head. He's like a snake, sliding into your guts, latching on, and staying there.

"You shouldn't have done that. Soda, he ain't good and—"

"Pony, we had to fuckin find you!" Soda explodes. "No one knew where you were – we never would have found you out there. You would have frozen to death first out there in that field."

Looking stunned, Darry drops into his recliner. He speaks like he's in a trance. "Soda went…I couldn't go but…but he was right. He told us the exact spot, Ponyboy."

"I was already on the approved list of visitors," Soda says, marveling. "He knew I was coming."

"He's dead?" I ask.

"He's dead. I didn't stay for…for that part."

"He didn't say anything to you about Bradley Miles did he?"

Soda winces. He lets go of my arm and grabs my hand. "No," he says. "I'm so sorry, honey."

OoO

"This way, Ponyboy." I turn my head, following the light. "Now this way."

Kathy clicks her flashlight off and puts it back in her bag. She does some other medical things, running her hand over my temple, inspecting the left side of my skull. She takes my temperature and my blood pressure. Soda and Two-Bit are lingering in the hallway. They're both smoking.

When she's done she sighs and stands. She talks to Darry. "Blanks aren't meant to be fired at that close of range. The debris from the blast grazed his temple, cut him up a bit, but he'll be okay."

Darry shoves his hands in his pockets and thanks her.

Two-Bit and Soda emerge from the hallway. Two-Bit sidles up next to his wife. I give him a smile, he looks nervous. "I guess Texas finally came in handy."

"Jesus, kid," is all he manages before he turns away. Following, Kathy says something to him in a low voice. She touches his back.

My ears ring, the buzz tinnier now, and then Soda's telling everyone they should probably go.

OoO

Liz hasn't said much. She follows me back to my room and turns on the bedside lamp. "I thought it was tonight, Pony," Liz says. "I thought tonight was going to be when I lost him."

She sits on the edge of the bed. She doesn't look mad. She looks scared. Her hair is unkempt, her mouth turned down. "I've never seen Darry like that before. He was so…so cold. And angry. When Two-Bit told us—he just went away. Went someplace dark where I couldn't reach him. It was like he was someone else."

I sit next to her and she meets my eyes. She sighs.

"He loves you more than me."

"Oh, hey, Liz I—"

"No. That's fine, Ponyboy. I'm not saying that to make you feel bad or because I'm jealous. I'm saying it because it's true. I always knew that. I expect that. You're his brother. Darry should love you and Soda more than me. But tonight I saw it. I really saw it and it scared me."

Liz cocks her head, like she's in awe and says, "It scared me because he'd do anything for you."

OoO

"I don't know what I would've done," Soda begins and that's enough. He just crawls into bed and looks at me. Stares like I'll disappear. "I couldn't protect you, Pone. Do you know how much that fuckin' hurts?"

"Soda, you can't always be there. You couldn't have known."

"Maybe not, but Christ…thank god for Nick. Thank god for Willy." I wince and shake my head and Soda gets close to me. He asks, "How'd you do it, Pone?"

"Do what?"

"See that guy? Visit Willy for all these months? There was something…wrong about him. He sucks the life from you."

I know what my brother means. Willy was evil. But he's not the worst evil I've seen. I think of Wilkes and the Tulsa Terror.

"I had to," I say.

"Hell, you're braver than me," Soda says with a small laugh.

"I don't know about that, Sodapop."

"But he knew. He knew where you were. I'll give him that." His voice drops. "He gave me you, and if he were still alive I know I'd owe him for the rest of my life. And I'd be okay with that Ponyboy."

Soda wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him. He kisses the top of my head. "I really would."

OoO

It's three in the morning and I can't sleep. I shrug out of Soda's grasp; I think my brother will be spending the night for probably the rest of his life, and slink into the living room. Darry's still up. The TVs on mute, light flickering across the walls in the living room. I don't see it but I know the shotgun's around.

"You should be in bed, Ponyboy." Darry's deep voice rumbles throughout the room, stopping me in my tracks.

"They ain't gonna come back, Dar."

"You sure about that?"

"Sure enough."

"That ain't gonna make me rest easy, kiddo. Not for a long time."

"Yeah, I know." I shuffle into the living room and get it out of me. I have the chance now so I'll take it.

"I'm so sorry for all of this, Darry. And I know I said it before but I did mean it. It wasn't to hurt you—but maybe we'd all be better off if I had stayed in Miami. If I had stayed away from here."

Darry shakes his head and sticks an arm out. He grabs the sleeve of my shirt and pulls me close. "I want you here, Ponyboy. I want you home and I want you healthy. That's all I want. I don't care about anything else anymore. You got that?"

I nod, my chin dropping to my chest.

"I just worry about you. I'll always worry about you."

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"I thought I was going to die tonight, Dar. I never thought I'd see you or Soda or anyone else ever again. And it's so stupid you know…because out of everything I just kept thinking about you and the weather. How you reminded me of dad. And I wasn't ready to die. I really wasn't."

Darry's face stands out paste-white in the darkness. "C'mere," he says gruffly. Wrapping an arm around my neck, he pulls me to him, hugging me against him so tight I can feel his heart thudding like a drum.

OoO

Steve's there in the next morning, unpacking donuts he swiped from the DX. "Well, well, well," he says as I rub sleep from my eyes. "I see you made it back in once piece. Minus your face."

"Always the charmer, Steve."

I check myself out in the shiny surface of the toaster. My right temple down to the side of my jawbone is black and blue.

I drop into a chair. Steve pours me a cup of coffee and sets it down. When I stare at it for a long moment, he rolls his eyes. "Christ, drink it. It ain't poisoned."

It's warm and bitter but it's good.

Steve sits across from me. "That was one fucking magic bullet, Ponyboy."

"Tell me about it." I swallow thickly and blink fast.

"Hey, hey," Steve says. "Don't go getting all sentimental on me."

"I missed everything, Steve," I say. "Willy's dead and Brad's gone. I was trying to find him and – and I just couldn't."

Steve's face is a blank; I can't read it. Finally, it softens and he lets out a breath.

"We were all hopin' for that, Ponyboy. But kid, _you're_ alive, and I think you gotta know what that means to your brothers. If you're trying to trade one for the other they ain't gonna have that no matter how noble you want to get."

He slides a donut my way. "You can't win 'em all, you little shit."

OoO

Nick whistles when I step onto the porch. "Man, you got clocked good, Curtis."

I grin. "Thanks for finding me. In an indirect sort of way, I guess." I prop a hand against the side of the house.

"Man, Two-Bit called me about ten seconds after talking to you," Nick says with a slight grimace. "That guy was messed up. Could barely understand a word until Soda got on the line. I probably missed you at the office by two minutes."

I think of the gun. "Probably better that you did."

"I did the only thing I could think of, Curtis," Nick says. "I know it's the last thing you wanted but it was the only way."

"Yeah. I know it was. It's okay, Nick." A dog barks as a white truck rumbles down the street. The afternoon is still and chilly. "What's Max say?"

"Who the fuck cares about him, Curtis?" Disgust creeps into Nick's voice. "The only reason he was worried about you is because he wanted his goddamn story." Nick snorts. "I'm glad the Big One beat the shit out of him."

I touch my jaw and sit on the step. "Right."

"I got something that might make you feel a whole helluva lot better."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Nick pulls a tape recorder out of his backpack. It's the size of a brick, a microphone attached to the side. "I went to the execution," he says. "Willy kept his word. He told you where Bradley Miles is." He teeters his hand. "Vaguely."

OoO

I play the tape in the front yard. Willy's voice sounds out from the microphone, and though tinny, it's clear. There's murmured gasps, the sound of chains and I can only imagine what's happening. Someone lists the charges, a woman sobs, and then a voice asks Willy if he has any last statements to make.

"Oh but I do."

"Then please, speak."

"My Boy," comes his familiar lilt. I can practically see him, standing there, proud and arrogant. My heart pounds as I listen.

"My Boy, I be missing you tonight but I know you not here right now because of very unfortunate circumstances with the dark men that I hope you find yourself out of very soon….You know I met dat brother of yours tonight. I like him. He's a lot like you."

"So despite your absence, I still be tellin you what you need."

A pause, then— "Ponyboy Curtis, I heard your thoughts. You be willin' to bleed for this so you be ready to bleed somethin' fierce. You go back to the beginning. Back to where Bradley Miles started. Dat's where you'll find that boy. Remember da man in da sky. The long white arm….You'll walk like a man when you see it. It will be right 'dere..."

"You been a great comfort to me My Boy in mah time of need. And so I tell you da last ting _you_ need to end dis all. To end your story. Final-like. When you're in da—

The tape cuts out into static, Willy's words lost. Stunned, I glance at Nick and he frowns, fiddles with the volume. We keep listening.

Then a voice is saying, "Mr. Wiese. It's time."

Willy's breathing goes shallow. There's a long silence and then he says, speaking up loudly for the crowd, "I'm not sorry for what I done. But I know dis is da way."

Chains clink, a voice says, "Willy Wiese we commend you to—"

The tape ends. Nick hits PAUSE. "I stopped it there," he whispers. Both of us sit frozen, taking it in.

"Thanks, Nick," I say. "For goin there. For doin this."

I lick my lips, rub sweaty palms on the knees of my jeans and play the tape again.

OoO

The fifth time we're listening to the tape Darry comes walking up the drive. He doesn't say anything, instead leaning against the railing. We listen close, ears nearly on top of the speaker when it's static, and yet I still can't pick up the last thing Willy wanted to say to me. I play it back one more time.

Darry waits until we're done and says, "Anything?"

"Not yet," I mutter, frustrated. "Willy's so full of shit sometimes I don't know what to think. I don't understand why he couldn't be clear, just this one last time."

Nick shifts. He clears his throat. "I, uh, I should go." He hands me the recorder. "Keep it. Figure it out."

"Nick," I say but Darry stops him when he's halfway down the steps.

"You should stay for dinner, okay?"

As close to an apology as Darry will get, he gives Nick a small smile and climbs the stairs. Nick blinks fast and looks as thankful as I've ever seen him.

OoO

Dinner's over and I'm holed up in my room. Too many things run through my mind, processing the events of yesterday. Relief that Nick managed to save Willy's last words, relief that Darry's forgiven my friend and relief that Rosie is gone. That I'm still alive.

But I'm also weary. Words are still lost and so is Brad.

OoO

Soda's back in the room. I flop across the bed. "Soda, you should go on home. I'm okay here."

He sits next to me. "Can I hear the tape?"

I let him.

OoO

"What does he mean?" Soda asks.

That's the part that intrigues me more than worries. I never actually mentioned my thoughts to Willy Wiese. He just knew. Like always.

"It could be a riddle or something. God knows he likes those," I mutter. I run a finger over the PLAY button, already eager to re-listen to it.

Darry, having joined us, leans back against the wall. "You're gonna go crazy listening to that, Pone," he says.

"I just wish I knew what he was trying to say. Before the static." It's winding down. I can feel it. Something's going to happen. "I'll find it," I say slowly. "It'll happen and I'll just find it."

"I ain't too excited about you stumblin' onto this," Darry says. "Whatever it is."

He looks at Sodapop and Soda looks at me.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_And may I just say - Wow. Thank you for all the reviews. I cracked 500. HOLY CRAP. You all are fab._

_It's not over yet. More crazy to come. _

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	29. A Dawning

_Major cliffie. You are SO warned._

A Dawning

OoO

A familiar looking truck is parked at the track when I finish my run. I grab my duffel bag and head toward it. I can't even hide a grin; this time I can run all the way without stopping.

"Looking good, kid. A regular Olympian."

"Right," I say, rolling my eyes. I slow down and take a gulp of air.

Two-Bit frowns. "Hey, you are," he says. "You're doing good, Pony." He tosses his cigarette on the damp earth. He still won't smoke in front of me.

"What's goin' on, man? You didn't come all the way out here just to watch me run." I raise an eyebrow Two-Bit-style. "As good as I am."

Two-Bit stuffs his hands in his pockets, his face serious. He doesn't say anything. Worried, I try to take a guess. "Is it Kathy? She ain't pregnant is she? I mean, I know you guys said you weren't serious but I wasn't really sure—"

"Jesus, no!" Two-Bit laughs. "Glory, you're about as subtle as goddamn Mack Truck. We ain't even goin there yet, kid."

I blush. "Oh. Okay. So what is it then?"

"It's you."

"Me?"

"I shoulda been on time the other day."

"Aw, man, is that what's been bothering you?"

"If I had been on time," Two-Bit says, his voice tight. "If I wasn't screwing around, we would have been out of there by the time that thug showed up."

"It wouldn't have mattered," I say, trying to reassure him because he looks about as pale as a sheet. "Two-Bit, man, they still would have got me. One way or another." He still doesn't say anything so I give him a smile. "Really, it's okay."

Two-Bit stares off into the distance as it starts to snow. Even in March, near April, it's still snowing.

He has that same look on his face, one I recognize from six years ago. I'll never forget it. The night of the rumble. I should have known. Two-Bit's gonna get on a guilt trip and blame himself for this for the next few months.

"It ain't your fault," I say. "So don't even start thinkin that."

Finally, my friend looks my way. "I never would have forgiven myself, kid, if something had happened to you." Two-Bit laughs bitterly. "I'll never get that fuckin' phone call out of my head."

"You knew what I meant. I knew you would." He lets out a long exhale and smiles shakily. I breathe into my hands to warm them. "It's better now. It's done with."

"You think so, huh?"

I lean back against the truck and rub my sore jaw. "That part at least."

OoO

"You'll be there?"

"Yeah, I'll be there," I tell Darry. "Tomorrow afternoon right?"

"Ponyboy."

"Kidding, Dar. Kidding." Rushing around the living room, I grab up my shoes. Check my pockets to make sure I have my wallet and my blade. "Today. Two. I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it. You know I wouldn't."

Darry finishes his coffee. "You going into work?"

I stick a pencil above my ear. "I'm going to barricade myself in my office until then."

"Pony, be—"

"I know." I hold up a hand. "Careful, right?"

"You got it."

OoO

I go to work, and I don't know what it is. It's just there. Heavy air and the buzzing in my head. Though things with the Trafficante's feel final, something is still out of place. This story is still lingering. I want to find Brad. I will.

I play the recording again.

"You trying to drive yourself nuts," Nick asks, "or just me?" His feet are kicked up on his desk, pen bobbing in his mouth.

I shoot him a grin. "It's just you."

Like it's come to do, more out of habit, my back aches; probably something it will do for a long, long time. A lingering reminder of a bad place. I stop the recording and reach around to touch my back.

Nick catches me. "You okay, Curtis?"

"Yeah. Just wish I knew what he was trying to say."

"I'm sorry, man." Nick sighs. "I wish I could remember the specifics. But it was all just a ramble. I should have paid attention but I thought the tape would have caught it. All I know is it had something to do with fire and blood."

"That's comforting."

Nick shrugs. "Max said he could have someone get it cleaned up. If you wanted."

"I don't want Max to touch this."

Knowing my boss he'd leak it to someone else or take responsibility for Willy's final words. I take the recorder and lock it up in my desk drawer. I look at Nick, wondering if I should tell him about my plans to quit the paper and decide against it for now.

Instead, I stand, checking out the clock on the wall. It's nearing two.

"I gotta go. We're having a party for Darry down at the shop."

"Sounds like a good deal."

I stop and turn as I reach the door. "You know, you should come."

"Ah, no," Nick says, waving me away. "Darry doesn't want me there."

"Sure he does." Shrugging my jacket on I say, "C'mon, you're part of us. Let's go."

OoO

I raise my eyes to the ceiling and can't believe it's really happening.

"Damn," Nick says. "They really did it."

"Yeah," I breathe, taking it all in. "They did."

Darry and Steve walk ahead of us, showing off their new shop. It's a small building with high ceilings and concrete floors. There's a back office with two desks, phones and everything else they need to get started.

Two-Bit starts talking about getting a pair of roller skates to break in the new floor when Liz pokes her head in the front door. She gives me a smile and I nod.

Liz gestures at Darry. "Come outside?"

He looks confused for a minute but Soda slaps his back and propels him out.

OoO

"There it is," Two-Bit announces, waving a hand across the sky. "Curtis Construction lit up in lights."

Nick lets out a low whistle.

Darry just stares at the sign mounted onto the post. It's one of Liz's designs. Big black block letters making up the name and then topped with a makeshift drawing of a roof and chimney. It's simple and damn good.

Soda smirks. "You know, for once I think Darry's speechless."

Steve says, "Alert the media," and points at me. "Better get on this, Pone."

Liz giggles and Darry turns to her. "You did this?" he asks.

"You like it?"

"I love it."

"Pony helped me narrow it down," Liz says.

I redden. "I had nothing to do with it. It's all Liz."

Two-Bit cracks the champagne and we all jump as the cork explodes. It sails off into the air, dropping somewhere behind the shop.

"Let's drink," Two-Bit says and leads the way inside the small trailer.

OoO

The space is tight but we all fit. It's Friday; Steve and Darry are finished with construction. Opening day is Monday. Everyone stands, talking, laughing. Evie spills champagne down the front of her blouse and tries to slap Two-Bit when he asks if she needs a bib. Even Steve laughs.

They're all happy and I'm happy.

"How was your last day at the DX?" Liz asks Steve. I bite my lip, noticing as Darry carefully watches Sodapop's reaction.

"Stuck around long enough to make sure this guy got it," Steve says, gesturing to Soda. "But I think I did okay."

"Yeah, I'll miss you too, buddy," Soda says with a smile. "But don't worry…I'll hold down the fort." Their bantering goes back and forth, easy and honest and I see relief on Darry's face.

Nick sips his champagne, grimaces and then dumps it into a nearby plant. "So the Big One did it, huh, Curtis? Good for him."

"Yeah," I say, giving him a goofy grin. I can't tell if it's the alcohol or the close quarters but it's warm. I turn and open a window even though it's frigid outside. "He deserves it."

"Hey Pone," Darry shouts, crossing the floor. "Hand me that photo of the Lake Elmo lot, will ya? It's on the desk…"

He nods as I look at him. "Yeah, we got that account, kiddo." He grins and Soda lets out a whoop.

"You really got it, Darry?" Liz asks.

"Yeah," Darry says. "We found out this morning."

Everyone sings their congratulations. The trailer gets louder and louder.

With the lake being prepped to be built on, it had never occurred to me that Darry had put a bid in. Or that he would have got it. The city has plans to build a picnic area and a tackle bait shop and some other ideas designed to add to the value of the lake. I'll miss the old Lake Elmo but it's good for Darry and Steve.

I think about the bodies found there.

Slowly, I move in the direction of his desk; Nick and Two-Bit start chatting it up. I dig around, pushing papers aside, finally finding what Darry wants, the photo of the proposed plans, when a business card slips out from behind the photo. I pick up the white square. _Wentworth Electric_.

I think about it. _Wentworth Electric_.

The buzz starts going off. "Darry, what's this?" I ask when he comes over.

He takes the photo but looks at the card. "Our electrician."

Darry shrugs his jacket off, draping it across the back of the chair. He clasps a hand on my shoulder. "Real good guy. Does some work around town for the city. That's how we found out about the Lake Elmo project. Recommended us to the city. He put our lights in. Wired up the place. Walter Wen—Pone, what is it?"

He peers at me. "What's with you? You okay?"

"I – I don't know." He's staring and finally, I shake my head. "I don't know, Dar."

It's on the tip of my tongue but I just don't know.

OoO

Everyone shouts loud goodbye's at each other even though we're all heading to our house to continue the celebration. Staying behind to lock up, Darry floats us a wave. Steve mouths something that looks like a swear word and they both laugh.

Soda climbs into the passenger seat.

"How're you doin'?" I ask, cranking the ignition. "You know, with Darry and Steve?"

His smile's thoughtful. "I'm good with it. Really, kiddo. It's just…weird, you know? But it's good for both of them. For all of us."

I pull up behind Two-Bit, who's waiting to turn left. He sticks his hand out the window and shoots us the bird. I lay on the horn. Soda laughs and tugs his DX cap down low.

OoO

Soda's chattering, rambling a mile a minute and while I'm trying to pay attention something large is looming in the back of my mind. The business card. The name. Wentworth…where I've seen it before—

"Holy shit," Soda drawls and turns up the radio. As usual my brother's carefree. "I ain't heard this song since high school."

_Oh, how you tried_

_To cut me down to size_

_Telling dirty lies to my friends._

_But my own father said_

_Give her up don't bother_

_The world isn't coming to an end._

_He said it, walk like a man_

_Talk like a man_

_Walk like a man my son._

The song comes on right as we're passing an open Mobil station.

I whisper, "Oh god," remembering Willy's words on the recording –_ Y__ou go back to the beginning. Back to where Bradley Miles started…_

The blood drains from my face. I curse myself for being so stupid. I had been so focused on the very beginning of all this that I wasn't thinking of one kid and where I had found him specifically. He had said the beginning of Bradley Miles. Not the beginning of the story.

The old Mobil station.

"Soda, hold on…"

"Sure, Pone but what—"

In the middle of the road I flip a bitch, the crusty old Ranchero groaning under the stress of the job. Soda grabs the dash and swears as I narrowly miss hitting a Volkswagen Beetle chugging along. Flopping like a boat, I grip the wheel and right it, taking us in the opposite direction.

"Whoo!" Soda screams, raising his arms. "Holy shit, Ponyboy!" Despite the situation, I laugh. Soda brown eyes wide, says, "Hell, we barely made that."

He smears his hair back. "What's got into you?"

I turn onto Main Street. "Just hear me out, will ya?"

OoO

"So you think he's in there?" Soda asks after I finish explaining.

He stares out the window. We're parked across the street from the deserted Mobil station. The windows are boarded up and spray painted black except for one. Low to the ground it's busted, all the glass kicked out except for a thin shard. A bucket truck with a white ladder is parked on the opposite side of the street.

"It would make sense…what Willy said. And this is where I found Brad so…"

"I can't believe you never told me about that," Soda says with a frown.

I cringe. "Sorry. I know." I lower my eyes. "You heard the tape, Sodapop. He has to be in there."

I crack my door open.

Soda grabs my wrist. "No way in hell you're going in there."

"I ain't gonna do that, Sodapop," I say. I gesture at the pay phone down the block and Soda's face lightens. "I'm gonna go call the cops. I'll come back and we can wait for them. If he is in there I don't want to leave him."

"And then," I say, taking a breath. "Hopefully this is over. I'll be done."

Soda says, "Darry told me you're gonna quit. But kiddo, ain't that—"

"I ain't done writing," I say slowly. "But I'm done at the Tulsa World. I can't trust Max."

Soda snorts. "Darry should've put that son-of-a-bitch in the hospital."

"I don't know," I say, watching as the white truck passes us. "Max is Max. But I ain't him. And I won't be."

"That ain't something you have to worry about—Pony?"

Distracted, I squint and then my mouth drops as the truck turns the corner, disappearing. WENTWORTH ELECTRIC had been stenciled on the side, the ladder bobbing as it moves. Like puzzle pieces they start to fit together. The ladder; it's the big, white arm, high in the sky.

It dawns. Like a fist to the face.

My brain reels. _That's how he found the kids – he was high in the sky, watching the ground. Watching Lake Elmo. Watching the neighborhoods. It's how he found me at Darry's. Willy's description of a "man in uniform", the W.J. Wentworth on the Wakefield Prosthetic order form, the business card I had thought was from Vinny Trafficante, the electrical fire at Darry's…_

I whisper, "He's an electrician."

"_What?_" Confused, Soda shakes his head. "Pony, what are you talking about?"

"Soda, I figured it out. He's Darry's electrician. That's how he found the boys, how he knew about me…" I slam a hand into the steering wheel. "Shit! That was him, Soda. He was parked out front and we just mi—"

The truck's back. This time it's rounding the corner at a crazed speed and heading straight at us.

"MOVE!" Soda shouts, seeing what's coming. "Go, kiddo, go!"

He tries to shove me out of the car but it's too late. The bucket truck slams into the front of the Ranchero and everything implodes.

OoO

Shouting. All around.

"Pony, Ponyboy, c'mon, please answer me..._please_..."

The ground's soggy. I blink and moan into the crook of my elbow. I sit up, dizzy, but alert. The air in front of me spliced with bars. I wrap a hand around one and realize I'm in something resembling a jail cell. The door is latched together with a thick plastic twist-tie. One of those you'd get from a hardware store. Hard to open without a scissors, apparently the Tulsa Terror figures they'll do the job.

"Soda?"

"Ponyboy!"

"Soda, you okay?"

"Fuck," Soda swears. "I think we're in some trouble, Ponyboy."

I smear a hand through my hair, seeing that Soda's in the same position as I am. Kept separate from me, he's in another confined space about ten feet away. We're in the Mobil station, although the inside resembles a fixed-up warehouse. It smells musty, basement-like and I think we're underneath the main floor.

My eyes adjust to the dark. There's one large open space but now it's like a haunted house, consisting of winding mazes and random doors that lead to who-knows-where.

"I think you're right, Sodapop."

A low voice comes from the corner. "Hey, Curtis."

OoO

I crawl over to him. Somehow, Bradley Miles is alive. He's pale, thin, and dirty but he's in one piece. He's in the cell with me.

"I don't believe this," I say, touching his arm, trying to get a good look. "Brad, are you okay?"

"Oh crap, oh crap," he whispers. "He got you."

"Are you okay?"

His eyes dart back and forth. "He just wants you, Curtis. That's all this is."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. Hungry as hell though."

I draw back when I notice his arm. He has a prosthetic on the right one. "Yeah, it's hilarious ain't it?" Brad says darkly. "He takes my arm and then puts this on me."

"Where is he?"

He lowers his voice. "I don't know. He'll show up though. He always does."

OoO

Soda rattles the bars on his prison, trying to find a way out. I press my eyes closed. It's like a bad, a really bad, horror movie. I hadn't even been trying this time to get messed up in this. And worse, my brother's in it too. The right side of his face is streaked with blood, probably from the impact of the crash.

I try to count time in my head. An hour since we left Darry's…maybe two hours down here…but I can't be sure. I can't be sure of anything. I hope Darry's worried. I hope he overreacted and has the National Guard out looking for us.

The rattling stops. Bradley whimpers.

I open my eyes and the Tulsa Terror is standing between the two cells.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Thank you, thank you for the reads and reviews. Probably about 5-7 chapters left. Depending._

_Hang in there._

_Feisty_


	30. A Terror

_This is a kind of a horrific chapter (maybe?) and ends in a cliffie. Just be prepared. Sorry in advance. Haha. Not really._

A Terror

OoO

He drags a large knife, maybe a machete, across the bars. They make scraping noises and I grit my teeth. Bradley's unfazed, probably used to it by now. I look up and get a better view than the one I had glimpsed on the bridge.

The Tulsa Terror – or Walter Wentworth – has a forgettable face. He's in white coveralls, a thin mustache and perfectly parted jet-black hair. Though he's tall, his body is large. His face is round and fat. He is Darry's electrician, someone I've passed but barely acknowledged. He holds a long wand that thrums and glows with electricity.

He lisps, "I caught you fiiiiirst."

A shiver runs down my spine. I move to the bars. "Let them out. Let my brother and Brad out of here. You just want me. I know you do."

"Ponyboy," Soda warns.

Wentworth licks dry lips, the papery flesh making soft crackling sounds.

"I'll stay. You know I will."

"Forever?"

"If you want," I manage. "If that's what it takes."

I see his face twitch. It's slight but filled with a rage I could never understand. His hand darts through the bars and grabs my wrist. He jerks me close, my chest pressing against the bars. He raises the blade.

"HEY!" Soda shouts. "Hey! Don't talk to him! Talk to me you fat, fucking asshole!"

Wentworth jerks me hard again, lifting me up, like he's trying to pull me through the bars and then he lets go, viciously shoving me back. I slam into the concrete floor and he giggles.

OoO

He's in the cell with Soda now. The electric prod glows bright. "I'll do bad things to him if you try anything," Wentworth says. "Very bad things."

Stony-faced, Soda nods.

I watch, holding my breath, holding my heart in my throat.

"You need a lesson," Wentworth murmurs, almost to himself. He moves the prod near Soda's side. "A quick lesson." The shock comes fast. Soda jerks, smoke rising from his body as he drops to the ground. The room's filled with the stench of electricity.

"No!" I scream. I stick my hand through the bar and reach for my brother. "Don't hurt him, _please_!"

Soda looks like he wants to pass out but to his credit stays conscious. He rolls over onto his back, says to the ceiling, "Pony, when we get out of here I am gonna kick your ass."

I choke out a laugh, grip the bars and bow my head.

"Just a little lesson." Wentworth takes the cables and closes the heavy metal door.

OoO

"How did it happen?" I ask Brad fast, trying to get some semblance of the plan down here so I can figure out how to work against it. Soda's knocked out over in the other cell, his body still except for his rising breath.

Compared to the Tulsa Terror, Rosie Trafficante is Mother Teresa. I make a silent promise; whatever happens I'll get them out of here. I'll do whatever it takes. If I die, I die for Soda and I'm okay with that.

"Before? With you and Allen?"

"It was like this. He toyed with us. Then he—he choked us with those wires so he could…" Brad swears, remembering. "He's making something from the body parts."

"What?"

"I don't know. But I seen it. It's in the back room. It's like some sort of freak suit. Or a statue. Who the hell knows. It's just scary, Curtis. It's real scary."

"Brad, why aren't you dead?"

"I don't know," he says, almost frantic. "I think he was keepin me alive for you and now that you're here…"

"Has he said anything else? Anything about what he'll do next?"

Bradley's eyes die out. "He just talks about you, Curtis. All the time."

I flop back against the bars. "Jesus Christ."

OoO

Hours pass. Sleep comes. Somewhere in the dark is the sound of praying.

OoO

"…glad he found you. He's been looking everywhere."

"Betcha he didn't think he'd end up here."

"Aw, if I know Pony that's exactly what he was plannin' on."

Bradley gives me a sad smile when I open my eyes. "He's awake," he announces.

I sit up, wincing as something jabs my hip. "You okay, Sodapop?"

"I'm okay," he says. "A little smoky but a-okay." His voice gets low, a whispered shout. "Listen Pone, the next time he's in here I'm going to try and get that thing away from him."

"No, no, you can't do that, Soda. Don't do anything stupid…"

"If we don't try, kiddo, there's a good chance we'll never get out of here. I don't know about you but I don't want to stick around to find out what this sick fucker is planning."

I groan in frustration, not liking the options we have. "Man," I say. "Where's Superman when you need him?"

Soda chuckles. "Pretty sure he's yelling at someone by now."

The dig in my side sharpens. Frowning I reach down, pat the outside of my pocket. My eyes widen. I've never wanted to hug Two-Bit Mathews so bad in my life.

OoO

"Can you walk?"

"What? Course I can walk."

"Okay. Good. But the real question is can you run?"

I stick a hand into my pocket and reveal Two-Bit's switchblade. Brad's eyes widen like saucers. I can't believe I forgot about the blade but it's been there the whole time. Thanking god for small miracles, I say, "I'm gonna get you outta here."

"But—but," Bradley stammers. "I can't leave you."

"Yes, you can," I say, moving to the plastic twist-tie that latches our door. It can't be undone with fingers but a knife will do the trick.

Soda watches with worried eyes as I slowly saw through the thick plastic. Every now and then they dart to the sounds in the dark but they always come back to me. "Careful, Pone," he urges. "Careful."

I keep my voice low as I talk to Brad. "Look, we're gonna be right behind you…but in case…in case something happens…there's a pay phone on the corner of Seventh and Main. You call 911 and then you get the hell out of there."

"Noooo..." He shakes his head. His face is wet and he drags his left arm under his nose. "What if I mess up? What if he gets me again?"

"Just run. Don't stop. Don't look behind you. Go out of the cell and look for stairs. I think we're in the basement. When you get upstairs there's a broken window near the door. Crawl through that."

"No, I don't wanna leave you. Curtis, I can't do it."

The tie finally snaps.

"You can. You have to."

OoO

After a glance back at us, Bradley Miles takes off on unsteady legs. The dark swallows him up. A door squeaks somewhere in the abandoned gas station.

"C'mere, Pone," Soda whispers. "C'mere."

I move fast, skirting to his cell. I reach up and I touch the lock and—

"No," I moan, when I see that Soda's cell is deadlocked. I didn't catch it earlier. But Soda knew; his eyes resigned. "No."

Soda takes the blade and tries to pick the lock. Finally, after about trying ten times, he looks at me. "Go, Pony."

I stare at him. A million things I should say run through my mind. But finally I settle on the truth, something I know in my aching bones. "Never. I'd never leave you, Soda."

"Goddamn it."

Soda shoves the blade in his pocket and grips my hands through the bars. "You got to. Darry would kill us both if we don't get out of here. You got to be the one to do it." Desperate, he says, "Just listen to me. For once in your life, Ponyboy."

"No way. No." I shake my head. "I ain't goin'. I'm sorry, Soda. I just can't leave you here—"

Soda's mouth forms an O and his eyes shoot open.

Something heavy whips through the air and wraps around my throat.

OoO

I tug at the wires, flailing as they cut into my flesh. Strong arms behind me are pulling tight. They yank me ninety degrees until I can't see Soda. But I can sure hear him using his lungs. His yell fills the room. Spots blip in front of my vision, the wires press and press, cutting off air. Thinking fast I decide to go limp before I actually black out.

I do and Wentworth's grip loosens. I dangle in his hands, feel his breath get closer and warmer on the back of my neck until—

I jerk my head back, slamming my skull into the front of his face. Standing straight, I go dizzy for a minute, sagging against the side of the wall but then I get my bearings. And though fat, Wentworth's up as equally fast.

"Run, Pony! RUN!"

My brother doesn't have to tell me twice. I sprint across the floor, rounding a corner and descend into darkness, sticking my arms out in front of me. A soft shuffling noise follows.

It's not very long before I hit wood and grip a doorknob, plowing through it. I slide into slickness and then I'm on hands and feet in the middle of a small room. A pool of blood coats the floor, the slide marks from my sneakers marring the crimson.

Slackjawed, I take in the rest of the horrifying room. Brad was right; I can't even comprehend what I'm seeing. My gag reflex works its hardest to stay put. I exhale. "Ho-leeeee shiiiiiit."

_Brad_, I think, _I hope to hell you found that goddamned pay phone_.

Padded footsteps.

I jerk around but I'm too late.

OoO

"Ohhhh," I groan, coming to. "My goddamn face." My head bobs, chin against my chest, and I'm hit with the vague sensation that I'm moving. I'm tilted at an odd angle. Squeaky wheels, rickety metal.

I stop moving and bounce in my seat with a jarring thud. The world settles. A door slams. I try to move my arms and can't. They're held tight. Glancing down I see I'm strapped to a wheelchair and sitting about six feet away from Soda's cell.

His eyes are wide and dark and awful.

"Soda," I say, jerking against the bloodied leather straps. "How's that lock coming?"

"I'm working on it, Ponyboy. I'm working fast. I'm gonna get you the fuck out of here." He takes the knife out, flipping it open with shaky hands. He drops it once, twice, and then steadies it.

"Funny, I was trying to do the same thing for you."

He laughs. I laugh.

OoO

The room is filled with small, panicked swears. "I can't get it, Ponyboy. I can't open it." Gritting his teeth, Soda hisses, "Steve fucking showed me this. And I can't fucking do it…"

A quick flash and the electric shock prod slams against the bars. Soda jumps at the thunderous noise. He drops the blade and goes sheet white.

Wentworth, glancing into the cell says, "Get back," and moves away, not noticing the fallen blade. Shaken, Soda sinks to the ground and sits on top of it.

The Tulsa Terror drifts in my direction. He giggles. It's high-pitched and strained and I know I'll never get that sound out of my head for as long as I live. He points at Soda, looks at me.

"I thought he was you. So many times. I watched you. I left pictures on Darry's truck. But you never answered." His face darkens. "You tried to trick me."

"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry." I speak like I'm talking to a child.

Walter Wentworth runs a hand down my arm. He gets close, stinking of onions and iron and a mentholatum smell. "You're a pretty boy." I try not to cringe but he sees it. With a fierce hand, he grabs my chin, jerking it over and up.

"You look at me when I talk to you. You have manners. Manners like a good boy should have."

"Hey! Hey!" Soda says. He's up and slipping the switchblade into his back pocket before he rushes to the bars. Wentworth turns, still holding my face.

"How about we make a deal?" Soda says in his easy-going drawl, but it's hard for him to pretend. His voice is tight. "You let the kid go and _I'll_ stay."

"Soda," I swear. "Don't be an asshole."

He ignores me. "He never listens anyway. Pain in the ass my entire life. You really don't want him."

"I've always wanted him." With that Wentworth lets me go and leaves the room.

Two seconds later, Soda's digging into the lock.

OoO

"How long do you think we've been here?"

"I don't know," Soda says. "Long enough."

"Yeah," I say lowly. It seems like hours since Bradley Miles left the cell but it's probably only been about twenty minutes.

Why? You figurin on stayin?"

"No, just hopin' someone's on their way." I close my eyes. "Hey, Soda? In case we—"

"Don't you dare, Pone," he says, already knowing where I'm going. "We're gonna get out of here. Whatever happens, don't fight me. Just go—"

Breaking off, Soda's eyes move to a corner on my left.

OoO

Wentworth's returned with a large machete. The long tip is rusted and smells like iron. This time he doesn't make Soda move. He paces in front of me, baring small, round teeth.

"I liked you. I liked you and you tried to run away."

Soda's panicked eyes flick to me and he gives me a nod: _keep talking_, and covertly tries to work the lock.

"I won't do it again."

"No. No more of that." Wentworth's right eye moves maddeningly around on its own. I think of the shoddy spelling on the note, of his diminished mental state, and can't believe this is the same man who murdered 16 boys. I guess crazy does crazy, batshit things.

The Tulsa Terror sticks the tip of the blade in my face. "You have something I want."

I stare at him. Think of the house of horrors in the back bedroom. Body parts. The ones he kept. Stacked into some sort of human formation, limbs jutting up, down, every which way. All the boys. All in a room. I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering the smell, and try not to vomit.

"What's that?"

"Right or left?" He points the tip of the blade at one arm and then swings it to the other.

"Well, I'm kinda partial to both."

Dumbly, he stands there. Sets the machete aside and unveils the glowing electric prod. I try to lean as far back as I can in the wheelchair. Soda's frozen, lock forgotten about. He watches us, eyes burning in anger.

"I mean, you have enough arms, huh? Don't you think?"

Wentworth breathes, "But I want yours. That's why I gave Bradley his back. I don't need it anymore. I like yours better."

"But—"

Wentworth sticks me with the prod and I shriek. Black clouds my eyes, my head bobs against my chest.

"I'm gonna love this one the best," Wentworth says and brushes hair from my face.

"Don't you touch him! Don't you fucking touch my brother!" Murderous, Soda rattles the bars, slams a fist into them and screams, "_I am gonna _kill_ you_!"

OoO

"Right or left?"

"Go to hell."

"Right or left?"

"Hey asshole, I said go to hell."

"_Right or left_?"

I jerk against the binds and scowl when they won't give. They're leather, the same ones used in Cherry Hills. Strapped down Marie or Flora or even Stubs.

"Eat shit, man."

Now Wentworth looks worried. He moves from side to side nervously. "But—but you have to choose. The rest of them did." He paces. "They all did."

I have my eyes shut, readying myself for something I can't even fathom, when there's a small _click _from Soda's cell. My eyes flash open. Wentworth's turning around, toward—

"Which, uh, one do _you_ want?" I ask, hoping to distract Wentworth. It works. He turns my way, a broad smile on his pasty face.

I try not to wince as he ever so gently runs the end of the blade down my arm. It doesn't pierce flesh but that's the end goal and it's hard to focus. "_I_ can choose?" Wentworth breathes like I've just offered him a million dollars. "No one's ever asked me that before."

Alert, I sit up straighter in the chair as Soda wraps a careful hand around the now-open lock. He slides it off, sticks it in his pocket and then wraps both hands around the bars, shielding the hole where the lock would originally be. He palms the switchblade. Puts a finger to his mouth.

I force my eyes on Wentworth so I don't give Soda away. _Please god_, I pray. _Don't let this go wrong_.

"Your choice," I say lightly. Offering up my arm to someone doesn't come easy.

Soda moves the door an inch. It doesn't creak. He moves it another.

Raising the blade high above my head, Wentworth positions himself in front of me. I steel myself – for whatever's going to happen. He's sweating. "Okay," he huffs. "Yes. Yes. Like this."

I flinch. The steel door squeals as my brother gets it open wide enough to step through. Wentworth wheels around and roars, "GET BACK!" He jabs the machete at my brother.

"Soda, watch o—"

Wentworth backhands me in the face with a meaty fist and silenced, I roll across the room.

"You motherfucker!"

Rushing, Soda jumps on Walter Wentworth's back and sticks him in the side with the blade. I scream as they go crashing back against the cell in a tangled ball, bouncing off the metal bars. It's all a blur, I can't tell what's happening, just that Wentworth still has the big machete in his hands.

Wentworth elbows Soda in the chest and Soda collapses to the ground with a grunt. Wentworth's up, Two-Bit's blade jutting out of his stomach like a turkey thermometer, tendrils of blood streaming down across his oily white t-shirt. He staggers, machete still clutched in his fist and juts forward. He runs at me, slicing the air thickly. He gets close and I feel the air _whoosh_ across my chest, my arm, like a soft breath.

I kick my feet up, the wheelchair bucking, and drive them down into Wentworth's knees before he can get any closer. He tumbles backwards. This time, he drops the machete. Before he can advance again, Soda dives and tackles me, pinning me and the wheelchair to the ground.

"Stay here, kiddo," he says.

"_No, Soda, no!_" I shout as he disappears. I struggle against my binds, feeling strange. Shaking off the sluggishness, I try to rock the wheelchair onto its back and give an angry groan when it doesn't budge.

Lying on my side, I see Wentworth go for his machete. But he's slowing down and he doesn't make it in time. Soda kicks it out of reach. As Wentworth roars and flings himself at my brother, Soda draws back and puts him away with a wicked right punch to his face, left hand ripping the blade away from Wentworth's side at the same time.

Soda drives the knife into his gut again, the blade hitting fat flesh. The Tulsa Terror falls back into Soda's old cell, landing unconscious.

Lightning quick, Soda slips the deadbolt from his pocket through the lock and latches it. Sirens sound in the distance.

I let out a breath and close my eyes. "Perfect timing."

Soda squats down to right me and the chair. It sways as it steadies and the world blurs.

"You alright, Soda?" I take a gulp of air. "You okay?"

"I'm okay." Soda wraps a hand around the back of my neck, dark eyes evaluating my face. He touches his forehead to mine, breathing heavy. "You good, Pony? Huh? You alright?"

I nod. "Just get me out of these."

Giving me a soft smile, Soda says, "Darry's gonna be mighty jealous. He always wanted to tie you up when you got mouthy."

I laugh and it's a relief.

Soda fingers fumble with the straps. Pale, he doesn't say much more until he's done. He's hiding it but he's shook up. I know when my brother's on edge. We both are.

"There," Soda says, finally throwing off the leather binds. I massage my wrists and wait a second, gathering my bearings. Trying to take this all in seems impossible. Rubbing sweaty palms on my jeans, I stand.

Soda moves toward the stairs as the walls begin to hammer above. He glances at the cell. Unconscious, dead or dying, Walter Wentworth is still.

"What do you say we get out of here? Darry's sure as hell going to—oh my god. Ponyboy."

"What? What is it?"

On my brother's face is one of the worst expressions I've ever seen. I follow his eyes. I touch my right arm, near the shoulder, where Walter Wentworth swung the blade only minutes ago. Warm blood seeps through my fingers.

OoO

Soda screams, "Can we get some fucking help in here?"and catches me as I fall. The sirens are swarming outside, commotion coming to a head. Somewhere upstairs a door shatters.

"I thought he had missed," I say and try to laugh but end up shuddering instead.

Ripping his DX jacket off, Soda presses it tight against my shoulder to staunch the blood. Grimacing, he presses hard, clamping down. "You're gonna be okay, Ponyboy. Just hold on for me, will ya?"

I didn't even feel it. There's a rattling in my chest and I think it's my breath. I swallow, close my eyes.

"No," Soda says. "Don't close your eyes. Open them. Look at me. Please, kiddo."

I try hard to stay awake. I can feel the blood pooling underneath. It'll keep me warm until I can no longer be warmed. It's like that night in the alley, only worse. Only this time I don't think I'll get out of it. The only good thing is that Soda's here. He's here with me. And he's alive. He's safe. I think it's so stupid that I'm going to die like this. After everything – this gets me.

Soda glances around the room, his face gray. "Jesus Christ," he whispers. "Please don't do this. Please." His hands tighten around his jacket, the squish of blood in the fabric. He hollers again, for someone, for anyone. For help. He screams for Darry.

"Soda, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get us into this..."

"Hey, no, none of this is your fault. Don't you go thinkin that, Ponyboy. You just stay with me, okay? Stay here."

"Soda, if I…"

"God damn it, stop it…" He's crying now. Soda shakes his head. "Don't do this to me, Ponyboy…"

"Tell Darry…"

"No. Don't..."

"…Tell Darry and Two-Bit that—"

I cough and there's red in my mouth. Slick across my teeth, the blood chokes my words. Soda cries out as about a hundred cops descend the stairs.

OoO

_Yep. I left it there._

_I left your precious Soda in one piece. Haha. _

_More to come…_

_Pardon typos. Please read and review. _

_XO_

_Feisty_


	31. A Scoop

_Kinda a catch-up chapter. Kinda sad. _

A Scoop

OoO

"On one…two…and three…lift…"

The world moves. Bobs and dips. Liquid runs through my veins. A million voices hum.

"Sir, sir…you're going to have to step away and let us work…"

Fingers thread through mine. My hand's squeezed. "Pony, can you hear me? Ponyboy?"

"Sir, please."

"Don't let him die…please, god…"

"Sir, we're doing our best."

"We need to get pressure on that NOW! Get him a…"

"Sir, do you need medical attention?"

"Leave me alone."

Soda's voice is a low moan and at first I think he's letting go of my hand but then I realize I just can't hold onto his anymore. I want to open my eyes, tell him I love him, but I can't.

"Hold on, kiddo. Please, just—"

Fainter, at a distance— "Sir, sir! Excuse me, you can't go—"

"Like hell I can't." A growl from far away. "Those are my brothers—Soda!"

The hand slips from mine and whatever I'm floating on is lifted high. Rocked and slid. Soda's voice disappears and then reappears. "…bad, Darry. He's real bad. Oh Christ—"

"Only one in the ambulance. Sir, who's it gonna be? Make it quick, we ain't got much time."

"Go," Darry barks. "I'll meet you there."

Doors slam.

OoO

Someone's crying. The buzz sounds loud, white noise in my ears until I can't hear anything anymore. While the sirens blare and the world rocks, I fall into darkness and time speeds up.

OoO

I see my parents and Johnny and Dallas and Willy Wiese. The five of them hanging out together is an odd combination. Dallas lights a smoke for Johnny. Johnny shows me the glowing end of his cigarette. It's red and burning like fire. I struggle in the light, unsure and unknowing. Willy mouths something I can't hear.

"Days," Dallas says with a smirk. "You been here for days, Pone. Go home. We don't want you no more."

Johnny smiles. "That ain't true, Pony. We missed you. You're just ready to go back."

I look at the one to guide me. Willy. He points at a black spot in my vision and says, "Go toward dat, My Boy. Not dat bright spot over dere. It sure look pretty now but it ain't what you want."

My father nods. He looks so much like Darry.

My mother says, "Go, Ponyboy. Go, son. Go fast."

I listen.

OoO

Everything rushes.

Soda's rambling. I can tell it's him by the sound of his voice. Darry's voice is deep and loud. Intimidating. Soda is always mellow and even. Carefree. Except now. It sounds strained. Hurt.

"…don't know why I didn't tell you about Sandy, kiddo. I was a fuckin' idiot. It scared me something awful…and then when you found out…man, it was one of the worst feelings in the world….You know, I still remember how you looked when I told you I was droppin' out of school…I didn't think anything could top that…nothin…but that sure as hell did it…"

Something beeps in the room. A machine groans. The light behind my eyelids lightens. Eventually my body floats into my consciousness. I take stock of it. I can feel my arms. Two of them, though the right one is numb, it's there. Soda has my left hand in his.

I float toward fuzzy awareness, ready to wake the hell up.

"I can always tell you anything, Pone. You know that? Over Darry, over Steve…you're just such a damn good kid. You listen to anyone." Soda chuckles. "These last few days, I think I been tellin you the same stories over and over now. Shit, I never was the writer, Pone."

A long silence and then—

"This is a nightmare. You know that? I been sittin here, goin on five days now, thinkin about how I can't do this alone. I can't be here without you. And I'm so sorry, kiddo. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it. All the promises I make you and I can't keep a damn one."

Soda's voice breaks. "You gotta wake up, Ponyboy. We almost lost you once, we can't do it again. Please. Don't die. _Please don't die_. Please, kiddo. _Please_."

I take a breath and his hand leaves mine. Soft movement of a chair scraping back. "Pony?"

I disappear from the darkness. I open my eyes. "Hey Sodapop."

"Thank Christ." Soda whispers, looking shocked. "Thank you."

OoO

Soda brings Liz, the doctor, a nurse, but no Darry.

Liz moves to the side of my bed.

The nurse takes my vitals and gives me a shot of something. She checks my IV and I close my eyes, drugged on god knows what. The doctor – a thin, stern-faced man – regurgitates the diagnosis. I don't really hear much. Tired, I tune the doctor out, only catching the important things. I've been out for four days. Wentworth hit a main artery, blood loss, transfusion…

I keep thinking about the story. All the questions I have for Soda. For Nick. I'm also wondering just where in the hell Darry is. I want to get Soda alone but he seems unable to sit still for more than two minutes.

Then as the doctor is murmuring something about "…prolonged care…" my attention is diverted from my thoughts. The doctor closes his chart, ready to be finished. "Any questions?"

"Yeah, when can I get outta here?"

Liz sighs. Soda stands in the corner, holding a pack of cigarettes and transferring them between hands. "Pony," Soda says in an awfully quiet voice. "The doctor just went over that."

After a long glance at Soda, the doctor says haltingly, "Unfortunately, as I was saying, we ran into some unforeseen complications with your surgery and it looks like you'll be here with us a bit longer than expected. You're stabilized but you're not out of the woods yet."

"Why? What happened?"

"During surgery you acquired an infection of the bloodstream, Ponyboy." The doctor clicks his pen. "You'll stay in ICU for about two more days so we can monitor. Once you improve, so will your chances and you can be moved to the general floor…and…"

I almost laugh as the doctor continues to ramble; 70% chance, so look alive, Ponyboy Curtis. Listening to the long list of things wrong, long enough to fill a book, makes me want to groan. I'm never gonna get out of here.

"He shouldn't have got it in the first place," Soda snaps in the middle of the doctor's spiel.

"Mr. Curtis, may I remind you to watch your temper? I'd hate to have you escorted out like your brother."

"_Whoa, what_? What happened to Darry?" I sit up fast and my head swims. I glance at Liz. "Is he okay?"

She places a hand on my shoulder. "Doctor Thompson, maybe we can…"

The doctor ignores Liz and says to me. "He's fine. Regrettably, your brother was unable to control him temper and in light of the situation I'm afraid we had to have him removed from the premises—"

"_What_?"

"Enough," Soda says, sticking a hand out. He looks unnervingly adult. In charge. His face is furious. "Get out of here."

"You're upsetting him," Liz says.

"I'm not upset," I say irritated, knowing the fussing will just get worse before it gets better. "I just want to know what the hell's going on."

The doctor mutters something about coming back when Soda shapes up and then goes. Soda watches the door shut and says to Liz, "Fuck that guy. I want a new doctor. They've messed this up too damn much."

"Soda, you need to calm down."

"I'm serious, Liz, I'm about to kick the shit out of—"

"Look, will someone just tell me what's goin on?"

After a careful glance at Liz, Soda sits in the chair beside my bed. He clears his throat.

OoO

"Jesus," I say, stunned, after listening to the reason why Darry isn't here.

Soda keeps it brief and vague, but from the gist of it, something happened after my surgery and Darry blew up at one of the nurses. Liz and Soda are evasive and I wonder what really happened.

Liz says apologetically, "Darry didn't mean to and believe me he feels awful but at the time, Pony, he wasn't exactly thinking clearly."

"I bet that's driving him crazy."

Soda lets out a laugh. "You don't know the half of it." Squeezing onto the edge of my bed, navigating the wires and tubes, he smoothes my hair back. "Kathy's trying to put a good word in for him, kiddo."

Soda must see the expression on my face because he says, "Get some rest, Pony. I'll call Darry. Let him know you're awake."

The nurse bustles in and gives me a shot. Instantly, sleep descends. Head swimming, I lean back against the pillow. Not having my oldest brother here is a scary thing. We all count on Darry to keep the peace; not wreck it.

OoO

When I wake next it's dark outside. The room is dim, only soft light coming from the lamp on the nightstand.

Gently, Soda runs a thumb across the back of my hand, over my IV. "How're you feelin?"

"I'm okay," I say, groggy. "Just tired and hot. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Pony."

He may sound fine but Soda doesn't look fine. Sunken cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, telling me he hasn't been eating or sleeping. His beard is dark and stubbly, jaw wired tight. He smells like cigarettes and alcohol.

"You should go home, Soda. Get some sleep."

He smiles, his handsome face wan. "I think that's my line, kiddo." He doesn't let go of my hand.

I yawn, tired, but wanting news. "How're the guys?"

"They can see you tomorrow. Two-Bit's already camped out outside."

"How's Darry?"

"He's real glad you're up, kiddo. I'm trying real hard to get him back in here."

"What about Brad?"

"He's safe. He's home with his mom."

"What about the Tuls—"

"No," Soda says quickly. "I'll tell you what happened. But I can't tell you now. Not yet." He takes a deep, terrible breath. "They thought you were going to die, Ponyboy. They were sure of it." He grips my hand tight and then releases it. He rubs palms against the thighs of his jeans. "And you still ain't right, you're still sick, so just go easy on me, will ya?"

My throat's dry. I stare at the ceiling. Move my eyes back to my brother. Soda's scared. I'm scared. It's understandable. Although I can't help but think most of the fear we've had is coming from the fact that we nearly lost each other. And the limbs. I can't forget about the white body parts. My dreams sure are going to be wild.

"I don't know what I would have done without you." Soda rubs his eyes. "I'd be lost. I'd be a goner. We'll talk. I promise. Just not now, kiddo."

"Soda?"

"What, Pony?"

Even though it's too late, I say the words I should have said earlier. Words I should have said before I left for Miami. Before all this ever happened. I take my second chance.

"I love you, Soda. I love you more than anybody."

A crack. And then another. Hunching over, touching his elbows to his knees, Soda covers his face, his shoulders racking.

OoO

"What's that old saying again? "An arm for an arm?"

"Shut up, Willy."

"You miss me, My Boy?"

"You know, I actually do."

Willy gestures to the pile of white limbs stacked behind him. The room we're in is dark, just lit up by body parts. I keep my gag reflex tamped. The one thing that bothers me the most out of everything and it's just that pile. That white pile.

"Soon they'll just be bones, My Boy. Nothing else." Willy cackles. "But what'll you be?"

"I'll be…" I stop and think. "I'll be here."

"You best make sure of dat," Willy says with a languid smile. "Nice and sure."

OoO

A new morning. New chaos. Doctors and nurses streaming in. Soda's gone to get coffee and meet Two-Bit. And because Soda can't, I make Liz give me the scoop. It's the reporter in me and I can't help it.

"How are my brothers? How are they _really_?"

"They're both a mess," Liz says, looking pained. I feel bad for her because she's had to put up with the worst. An angry Darry, a wounded Sodapop. Sleepless nights.

"Darry's really struggling, not being here and all, and Soda won't talk much to anyone about what happened. He spoke to the cops and told Darry some but he's holding it close." She shakes her dark head. "No one really knows, Pony."

Liz goes on. "Brad's fine, his mom's been here a few times…but…only family allowed in ICU."

"What about Walter Wentworth? Is he dead?"

"I shouldn't even tell you this…but..."

"What is it?"

"The Tulsa—" She breaks off. "Walter Wentworth survived."

The blood drains from my face. "That asshole's _alive_?"

And while I'm glad for it, glad Soda hasn't killed a man – self defense or not, god knows he doesn't need to deal with that – I still really wish Walter Wentworth would have kicked it.

"And Pony….He's here. They admitted him to St. Joe's."

At that moment, I remember. The bodies. The limbs. The dream from last night. My stomach gives a violent lurch. "I think I'm gonna be sick," I say.

"I know," Liz says sympathetically. "It's awful, having that monster so close to you."

"No," I say and struggle to sit up. "I really think I'm gonna be sick."

With a gasp, Liz jumps back as I lean across the guardrail and empty up my non-existent stomach contents. Watery bile lands on the floor. When I'm done I lean back in bed and wipe my mouth. I close my eyes. I've been through Wilkes, the mob, my back, and nothing can compare. I'm not traumatized though. Just haunted. Just tired.

Liz brushes hair out of my eyes. "Poor thing."

"I'm okay," I say. "Just stuff I wish I wouldn't remember."

"It had to have been horrifying. Pony…I can't even imagine."

"It was," I say. "But I wasn't Brad. I wasn't there for three weeks. And I still have my arm. So if you think about it, I really shouldn't complain."

Her lips are pursed. "You've been through a lot. You don't have to put on an act for us."

"I'm fine, Liz."

Angry, she draws herself up. "_Cages_, Ponyboy. I heard about that. And those kids. Those bodies. What he tried to do to you and Soda. Nobody can be okay with that. Darry sure as hell isn't. You know that."

I sigh and because of the fire in her eyes feel I owe her an explanation. She's confused but she wasn't there. I have to keep going forward because if I go back, remember and dwell on it, then it will really sink me. Soda's doing it too, which is why he's not talking. But only he and I know that.

"I'm not okay, Liz. Hell, I'll never get it outta my mind. But…if you wanna know the worst part, it was seeing Soda like that. Worrying about him. I could have given two shits about myself. I just wanted him and Brad out of there."

Liz smiles but it's a sad one. "Soda said the same thing about you."

OoO

Soda sticks his head in the room. "You up for visitors?"

He's shoved in the room, a voice behind saying, "Visitors schmisitors…" Two-Bit swaggers inside. "I'm this kid's fairy godmother."

I laugh and roll my eyes to the ceiling. "You're lucky I put up with you anymore."

"Put up with _me_?" Two-Bit says, approaching the bed. "Kid, I make you look good." He wraps his hands around the guardrail and evaluates me. "You know…he's still too pale and scrawny but I say we keep him, Sodapop."

Yawning, Soda drops into a chair. He gives a soft smile. "I say it's a plan, man."

I shift lightly in bed. I feel about 109 degrees and my arm's killing me. The nurses keep shooting me up with god knows what, but I'm bound and determined to stay awake as long as I can. I need to talk to Nick.

"Glad you made it up, kid. Real glad." Two-Bit says, eyes soft. "You really got put through the ringer this year, didn't you?"

I rub my face, tiredness creeping up. "Yeah, let's hope this is the last time I'm in one of these things."

"Shit, if it ain't we'll all have to be admitted, ain't that right, Soda?"

No reply. Soda's asleep in the chair, chin propped in his hand.

"He's out." I smile.

"And it's about damn time too," Two-Bit says. "I don't think he slept at all since you were brought in. Him and Darry are probably running on coffee fumes alone."

"How is Darry?"

Two-Bit seems unsure of what to say. He sits in the chair beside the bed, chews his lip and finally says, "I saw old Superman today...he's pretty pissed off. Kath is doing her damndest to get the hospital to let him back in but they won't budge. You think with everything you've been through they'd relax but they seemed bound and determined to be the biggest pricks in the world. They won't even let Kath be your nurse, conflict of interest or some shit like that."

Wincing, I try to sit up. Standing, Two-Bit murmurs, "easy" and grips my elbow, helping me to straighten up.

"So he's here at St. Joe's? Walter Went—"

"Shit," Two-Bit says with a hiss. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Liz told me."

He looks nervous. "She wasn't supposed to tell you that." I roll my eyes and he says, "Yeah, well, for your brothers sakes, for my sake, pretend you don't know."

_Yeah, right, _I think_, _trying to ignore the itch brewing_. It's already too late for that._

I cock my eyebrow. "I'm gonna be here for a while, Two-Bit. I think I would've figured it out."

"Yeah, I know you are kid. But don't worry about that because I'll be here to keep you company the entire time. Quoting you Shakespeare, pointing out the best Playboy bunny, spoon feeding you Jell-O..."

I laugh and my arm twitches. I take in Two-Bit's face. Behind the cheeriness and the long rusty sideburns is fear. A dark kind of fear too; like if he moves the wrong way something bad will happen. Tentative and wary.

"At least the blade finally came in handy," I say, giving him a small smile. "Not just for decoration anymore."

Any semblance of happiness drops off his face. Two-Bit points at me and says in a tight voice, "No fuckin jokes. Not now. You gotta be okay for a week, kid, before you go there. I mean, Christ, do you know how close you were to kickin it this time, Ponyboy? They asked Darry if he wanted a goddamn priest brought it."

Two-Bit smears his hair back. Glances at Soda to make sure he's still asleep and then looks my way. His face is paste.

"I said a long time ago that we could get along with anyone except Johnny but that was bullshit. Kid, you're my best friend, I told you that before but I mean it. I don't know what I'd do without you so don't ever fuckin do this again. You hear me? You goddamn got that?"

Choked up, Two-Bit turns away, walks to the door, pretends to look out the small window, and wipes his face.

"Yeah..." I look at a spot in the corner of the room and say softly, "I got it."

OoO

A rested Soda and Two-Bit play a hand of poker. The ICU room is small and compact. Between the bleak colors, the wall a pale grubby yellow and fluorescent lights, the strange machines and monitors and the beep of the heart machine, I have a feeling I'm going to get very bored very fast.

"I think he's trying to cheat in a hospital room," Two-Bit says, pretending to gasp. "Isn't that a sin or something? Can you please lecture your brother on proper hospital etiquette?"

"I think that's the first time I've ever heard Two-Bit use the word etiquette in a sentence." Soda flings a card at him.

"Look," I say. "You guys should go on home. You don't gotta stay. Soda, go see Darry…"

"Pone, I ain't so sure—" Soda cuts off as the door creaks open. Nick flashes a smile. He's got his backpack with him and I know that only means one thing.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Ok, yes. You will get hospital scenes. But I promise they are not without reason. They have a purpose…mostly plot but sometimes Pony whump. There is more to come…don't worry, hospital shenanigans coming up._

_And never go to my fictional hospitals or trust my cops. You will die or go to jail._

_And thank you, thank you for the reviews. _

_That said, love you all. MWAH!_

_Feisty_


	32. A Need

_Never fear…no cliffe._

A Need

OoO

"Well, you look like shit," Nick says as a greeting.

I give him the finger as a nurse breezes inside the room. Looking at Soda, she crosses her arms and _tsks_. "Only two in here at a time. You should know the rules by now, Mr. Curtis."

Soda's eyes turn to slits and before he can open his mouth, Two-Bit jumps in. "You know it might not be a bad idea to take the kid up on his offer to escape for a few hours. We'll go find some grub, maybe a few beers, grab a shower, visit Superman, take the last train to Clarksville…"

"Go on," Nick says. "I'll keep him company."

"I'll be okay, Soda," I say. "Honest."

"Okay," Soda says. To Nick, he says, "Remember, no work. Nick, I mean it, I'll kick your ass outta here."

Nick holds his hands up. "Who said anything about work? I just came to talk about the weather."

Soda eyes him warily. "Right." He points at me. "I mean it. Be good."

"C'mon, man," Two-Bit says, clapping him on the back and navigating Soda out of the room. "Let's go scrounge up some burgers." Before Two-Bit leaves, he pauses in the doorway and silently mouths, DO NOT WORK, before taking off after Soda.

The nurse follows them out. The door clicks shut.

Nick whistles. "Man, Soda's takin over for The Big One, ain't he?"

"You bring a pen?"

"Oh most definitely."

OoO

Because he's an unbiased observer and just likes to talk, Nick fills in the blanks about what happened when I was out for the last five days.

He wrote the story. He had to. They were under deadline and Max wanted it out. I don't blame him for that. "Max still wants you to do your side when you're outta here," Nick says. He rolls his eyes. "He's worried about you yeah, but he's fucking over the moon you're in here."

His voice gets disgusted and he mimics Max's trademark drawl, "Now we'll have credibility. Kid pulls through, he's a hero, our paper's the only one with the inside scoop, and we get another story out of it. A bestseller. Maybe a Pulitzer."

"Creep," Nick mutters. "I wanted to deck him so bad." He eyes me, eyes my hospital room and grins. "At least you get health insurance out of it."

"No shit. The bill's gonna be a fortune."

Nick smiles. "But you are a hero, Curtis. Everyone's been talking about you. You're gonna be on the cover of Newsweek."

"Great," I mutter. "Just what I want."

I ask him about Soda and whether or not he's in trouble with the cops. "Why would he be?" Nick asks. "It was self defense. He put that sick creep down."

"I don't know," I murmur, chewing a nail. "Just worried I guess. Don't trust the cops."

"Yeah, well, don't. You know, if we were lucky Soda would have killed him. Ended this pretty damn quick. Now we wait for the cops to botch it."

"You know Wentworth's here."

"I do. I've been trying to find his room for days." A slow smile spreads across my face as Nick starts shaking his head. "No, no, no. C'mon, Curtis. You know I'm behind you with this but not yet. Get out of ICU _then_ go roaming the halls."

A machine beeps, a voice across the loudspeakers.

"You know…" Nick says. "They didn't tell me a lot but I heard about some of the things that were down there. Saw some of the photos. Curtis, hell man, you and Soda you're both lucky—"

Sickened, I remember, trying not to let my brain go back to that place but it's to no avail. Blood drains from my face. The buzz Nick's standing and pouring me a cup of water. "Sorry, man. Drink this."

I gulp the tepid water. "It was some sick shit, Nick."

"You wanna tell me about it?"

"Not now, man. After I'm outta here."

A nurse enters with a tray. She sets it on the swivel tray and slides it over to me. Jell-O and a funky smelling soup. After checking the machines, she leaves. I barely hear her. I swing the tray away and sit up best as I can.

"Tell me what happened with Darry."

OoO

"He was fine. Well, he probably _wasn't_ fine," Nick amends. "But through it all – when you were brought in and during your surgery – he was just quiet. Big, angry and quiet. He'd go off and pace the hall. He wouldn't really talk to anyone. Even Liz."

"And then you were out of surgery. Everything was looking good, looking up, and then you got sick again." He snaps his fingers. "Just like that and everyone was wondering what in the hell happened when you had been so close to bein okay…"

Nick waves a hand. "I ain't too sure what it was really, I ain't no doctor, but basically they exposed you to something they shouldn't have and you got an infection…fancy stuff, right?"

"Anyway…" He blows out a breath. "It was bad. They told your brothers you probably wouldn't make it through the night. They asked Darry if he wanted to call a priest or some shit. It was pretty awful. Man, I ain't never wanted to be anywhere else in my entire life. Liz starts bawling, hell, Two-Bit couldn't even keep it together…he bailed. Went to some bar down on the Ribbon until Steve brought him back."

"So then, a few nights ago, Darry starts grilling this nurse about what went wrong. In the middle of the hall, outside of your room, he's just standing there bitching her out in front of everyone. Finally, out of nowhere she just admits the hospital fucked up. Guess she had a conscience or The Big One finally wore her down...and, uh…"

"Nick?" I prod when he stops talking.

"Well, he…kind of uh, hit her."

"_What_?"

"He didn't _actually_ hit her," Nick explains. "He smacked the tray of pills out of her hand, which I guess consists of "hitting" at this hospital. So she screams and starts crying…"

"Oh, Jesus…"

"Then he starts yelling at her, the cops come and—"

"_Whoa, what?"_

"Yeah. It was kind of a mess, Curtis." Nick reaches over and takes my Jell-O. "Steve and Two-Bit tried to calm him down but it was too late. St. Joe's booted his ass. It was pretty dick of them to do considering you were on your way out."

I watch Nick eat my Jell-O and wonder and worry about Darry. Now I know why Soda's so pissed. I could have died and they still wouldn't have let my oldest brother back in. God, I bet _Darry's_ pissed. I miss him something fierce; he's always been the source of calm and order and we need him.

Between bites of Jell-O, Nick asks, "They still won't let him in, huh?"

"It's fuckin' Fort Knox. I gotta get out of here."

Nick snorts. "You're gonna be here for a while. Get used to it." He takes the last bite of Jell-O and sails the container toward the garbage. "You wanna write?"

"No, man," I say, feeling slightly ill. "I don't."

OoO

It takes me about a day to fully wake up. For the mind to clear. And one thing I'm sure of is that I want out. Now. Stay still, stay quiet, stay safe, is the motto of the ICU room. I can't. But I'm limited. Unlike the last time with Cherry Hills, I can't check myself out. I'm too sick. I'm stuck in this bed and the need to work – to investigate and write – is driving me nuts.

OoO

Kathy comes to see me while Soda's on the phone with Darry. "Hey, honey." She kisses my cheek. "You finally got some color back in your face."

"Any word on when I can get outta here?"

"Not for a while, Pony," she says. "Believe me, I want you out of here just as much as you do. That way my husband will start coming home to me at night." She gives me a small smile.

"Is he okay?" I ask.

Her round face goes serious. "I swear I ain't never seen him pray a day in my life, Ponyboy. Until you were brought in here. He's okay. _Now_. But I was really worried. I was worried about all of us."

"You should be moving to the general floor soon at least." Kathy lowers her voice. "I'm sorry you're in this mess. These stupid doctors—"

"Hey," I say. "It ain't your fault."

"I know," she says. "I know."

I almost want to ask her about Walter Wentworth but something in her face stops me.

OoO

Steve brings a few books from my room. It's the first time I've seen him since I've been awake.

"Darry put you up to this?" I ask as he dumps the books onto the nightstand.

"Keep talking smart ass…" he says. "And you ain't gonna get shit." Steve's eyes are dark, a smirk on his face. He's not wearing his DX cap or jacket, just a black t-shirt shirt and jeans, and I realize that he and Darry are at Curtis Construction.

"Oh, man," I say, rubbing my brow. I had completely forgotten. "You're open now aren't you?"

"I'm taking care of that." He crosses his arms, uncomfortable in the tight space. The room already taken over by Sodapop and Two-Bit and by about a million machines.

"Kid, stop worrying about it. It's all runnin' fine."

I pick up one of the books and wince at the choice. It's _Something Wicked This Way Comes_. Steve sits. Then he stands and starts pacing. "You, uh, need anything else or…"

"You think you can get me a notepad and a pen?" Steve rolls his eyes and I say, "C'mon, it ain't gonna kill me."

"Yeah, keep talkin," he snaps.

"I gotta do something," I moan, hating that I'm regressing to a whiny brat in front of Steve Randle. "Please?"

He reaches over and squeezes my knee. Looks at me hard. "How about you just fuckin rest for once in your life? Sit. Relax. Don't talk. It'll make everyone's life a whole hell of a lot easier."

With a groan, I lean my head back against the pillow and close my eyes. "So I take it that's a no?"

"You're goddamned right it is." He swears under his breath. "Kid, just settle down, okay? Soda's goin' nuts."

"I hate this, man."

Steve sinks into a chair. "I ain't too fond of it myself. Everyone crying and fussin' over you, it gets old, Ponyboy. Real old."

"Yeah. Tell me something I don't know."

"You did save your brother though," Steve says, eyes focusing on the windowsill. "So I guess I can put up with you for a few more years. I'll give you that." He lights a cigarette and breathes in. "I'm still smoking around you though, and you can just fuckin' deal with it. I ain't that generous."

I prop a hand in front of my mouth and smile.

OoO

Soda holds my hand as the nurse adjusts my IV. Steve pretends to read his magazine but he's watching the liquid swirl inside the tubes. How Steve and Soda can sit around all day playing cards is a mystery. And even though it's because he's worried, Soda's the most patient person in the world these days. I want to tell him and Steve to get out while they have a chance. I haven't really realized just how on the go I had been until I'm literally forced into slowing down.

"Soda," Liz says, cracking the door softly. She slinks inside. "The cops are here."

He frowns. "What do they want?"

"They're checking back in. See if Ponyboy wants to give his statement."

"I told them, not until he's out of ICU—"

I perk up at the thought of some news. "It's okay," I say. "I'll talk to them."

Soda looks doubtful but he tells Liz to let them in.

OoO

It's the asshole who knocked me around in the interrogation room. I resist the urge to say "I told you so" and instead nod through his opening "I'm sorry" and "Get better soon" condolences.

Soda says he'll be back in one hour and leaves with Steve.

The cops listen as I recount what happened, telling them everything I can remember. It's not hard to; the memories are going to be ingrained in my mind for as long as I live. I tell them about the Wentworth Electric business card at my house, the photos, and though I leave the Trafficante's out of it, I tell them about the electrical fire at Darry's. I bring up Willy Wiese and this time they don't flinch. They just listen. They really can't complain; they have their suspect now.

"Everything matches," Guy Walden says to his partner. "Bradley's story, Ponyboy's, his brother's…"

"Was there a reason they wouldn't?"

Taken aback, Walden says, "No, no, no. This just means our report will be a lot easier to write up."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. _Figures_.

"What's gonna happen to Wentworth?" I ask.

"He'll recuperate," Walden says. "Then it's off to the State Penn for him. We want to get this case to trial fast." He closes his pocket notepad. "This is all we need for now but I'm sure we'll be back. You'll definitely be needed to testify."

I pull a piece of thread on my blanket. "He say why he did it? Wentworth?"

The cops look at each other. "Nah," Walden says. He pulls out a cigarette, remembers where he is, and shelves it. "Won't talk to anyone. Comatose-like. Slow in the head."

I think about this. I think about the back room. All those stacked body parts and know they don't have an answer for that either.

OoO

The next morning Two-Bit flies through the door. It bangs back against the wall, causing Soda to nearly spill his cup of coffee all over us. Both of us are squeezed onto the bed, trying to watch an episode of Dragnet. So far we haven't really talked about what happened. I think it scares both of us because it's like ripping a band-aid off on a wound we don't know how long it'll take to heal.

"Whooooowheeee!" Two-Bit hoots, waving a newspaper around. "It won't be long now!" He slaps the newspaper on my lap. "How do you like them apples, Ponyboy Curtis?"

Soda laughs. "Jesus, I don't believe that kid."

I smile crookedly and read the headline on the front page of the Tulsa World that Nick's wrote: FAMILY BARRED FROM VISITING AILING JOURNALIST.

OoO

It doesn't take long. Two hours later a nurse shows up and grudgingly tells us Darry will be allowed back in.

OoO

"So you gotta admit, Soda, for once the newspaper came in handy." Warm, I throw off my covers.

Soda laughs and pulls out a deck of cards. "I'll give it to Nick. He sure knows how to create a shitstorm."

He knew what would happen –and that proves how good Nick is. Inundated with angry phone calls and crowds, the hospital lifted the ban and agreed to let Darry in.

Two-Bit kicks out his legs. "Let's take bets on the first person Superman will yell at."

"Two-Bit," Soda says with a grin. "I think it's gonna be you."

"Yeah," I chime in. "Aren't you wearing one of Darry's shirts?"

"Hey, Liz brought it to me, okay?" Two-Bit says, indignant. "And this is cause for abuse, you two. If I wasn't in such great shape I'd challenge you to an arm wrestling duel right now…"

He trails off as three nurses float into the room. They don't say anything, just move toward the machines hooked up to the tubes running through my body. One taps her nails on a monitor.

I sit up in bed and close my book. Soda twists in his chair. "Is everything okay?"

They don't reply. A loud beep shrills in the room. One we haven't heard before.

I ask, "What's going on?" and then a blood pressure cuff is slapped on so fast I don't even have time to blink.

Confused, Two-Bit stands. He backs into a machine and curses when it starts chirping.

"Temp is 104."

"Call Doctor Thompson."

"Jesus H. Christ," Two-Bit says and glances at my brother. "Soda…"

They start to wheel my bed and the accompanying machines out of the room. Wires everywhere. I grip the metal railing. "Hey, what's goin' on?" Someone sticks me with something and I try to shove them away. "Sodapop?"

Soda darts across the room and grabs my hand. We link fingers and he doesn't let go. "Hey! Hey! What's wrong?" he yells. "What the hell is this? Where are you taking him?"

"Mr. Curtis, please stay calm," one of the nurses says. "The doctor will be in to speak with you. Right now we need to get Ponyboy to surgery."

She shoves the bed roughly and our hands are pulled apart.

OoO

I scowl at the nurse. "You didn't have to do that."

"Do what, honey?"

"Scare them like that…you could have just done this there."

She purses her lips and hands me a cup of ice chips. "Doctor Thompson doesn't want to take any chances with you. We wanted to get you up to surgery just in case it was more than it was."

"Yeah," I say, rolling my eyes as she walks away. "I bet."

Apparently cause for alarm was a high temperature. After much commotion and determining that my incision isn't infected like they had thought, they give me fluids and ice chips. No surgery needed. Doctor Thompson stands in the corner, looking nervous.

And he better be; Darry's on his way.

OoO

After an hour, I'm still in post-op being monitored when I see him.

Walter Wentworth is about five beds away from mine, an oxygen mask on his face, stomach wrapped in bandages. The first time I've seen him since the Mobil station and it hits me like a stack of bricks. I'm so angry. I sit up in bed, pulling against cords, ignoring the burning in my arm and look at him. Tunnel vision takes over. I see a line – a straight line I need to finish.

He did this. All of it. He's killed 16 boys, nearly killed my brother, Bradley, and he won't talk. He won't give anyone a reason. Well, I'm gonna get one. I'm gonna get a goddamn answer.

OoO

I can hear him from the hallway. Everyone can. The nurse looks afraid but I just smile.

"I want to know where my brother is and I want to know now!"

"Sir, if you'd just—"

When they open the door he's standing there, back towards me, shouting at the nurse. He's in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, his hair slicked back Darry-style. He's tall and from the back he could pass as my father.

They wheel me in on the stretcher and I say, "Careful, Dar, you don't wanna get kicked outta here again."

He whips around and it's instantaneous. Waves of relief crash over Darry's face, smoothing out his worried features. "Ponyboy," he says, his voice thick. Crossing the room in two long strides, Darry takes me in his arms, ignoring the nurses and the cords. I wrap my arms around his broad back and squeeze.

I squeeze hard.

OoO

_Aw, reunited and it feels sooo good._

_Pardon typos._

_Good news: there are probably about five (very eventful) chapters left._

_Bad news: I can't update this weekend. Don't hit me._

_As always thanks for the reviews. You rock my writing world._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	33. A Habit

_Sorry for the delay. Long chapter to make up for it._

_A tiny cliffie. But I think it's a fun one._

A Habit

OoO

"I'm not as scary as you," Soda says after all the nurses have cleared out and Darry's finished shouting at the doctor. "I couldn't make anyone talk around here."

"Yeah, well," Darry growls, without cracking a smile. "They better start now." He smoothes my hair back, taking in my face. Rests the back of his hand against my hot cheek and frowns. He eyes Sodapop. "I'll stay with him. You should go home."

"But Dar—"

"Go, Soda," Darry and I both say at the same time. Finally, Darry smiles and says, "You've been here for the past week. Go home. Shower. Get some sleep."

Hesitating, Soda looks at me and then at Darry. Now that we're all here, none of us wants to leave each other. The need to hold on heavy and foreboding. Especially with Darry – I can tell it's worn on him hard. My normally put-together brother is disheveled; his face haggard and unshaven.

Darry touches Soda's arm. "Go on. I've got him tonight."

OoO

It's a hard next couple of hours. They give me a shot. Darry paces, fusses, asks me about a thousand times if I'm okay. And yet, we don't talk. Not really.

OoO

He sits and reads his paper. Body rigid and alert. Darry's nervous. Every now and then I'll glance up and I'll catch him watching me. Liz stops in, brings him a change of clothes. He kisses her lips and she rubs his back. I see the way he looks at her when she leaves and smile to myself. They'll be married within the year, no matter what Darry says.

I'm yawning, sleep weighing heavy, when Darry's rough voice sounds. "What would I have done, Ponyboy?"

Confused, I say, "What, Dar?"

"I keep asking myself, what would I have done if you and Soda hadn't made it out of there?" He shakes his head. "And when I try…I can't picture anything. And that's the scariest thing out of all of this, you know? I can't picture anything in my life after that."

Darry stands and crosses the room. He sits in the chair next to my bed and gently takes my hand. Unused to this, I stare at it like it's a bomb.

"I want to tell you something, Ponyboy," Darry says. "I always thought the most scared I'd ever be in my life was when mom and dad died. When I was left with you two and I had no idea what in the hell I was doing. But then it was this."

"Both of you. Both of my brothers. Gone. Gone for an entire day and I couldn't do a thing about it." Darry sighs. "Pony, I was outta my mind. After about an hour…when you two didn't come home…I knew, kiddo. I just knew something was wrong."

"I'm sorry," I say and wince because I say it a lot. "I'm sorry about all of this. It was your day and I messed it up. I'm sorry for dragging you into this. For never listening and for choosing a stupid job…"

"You didn't mess it up. None of this is your fault."

I close my eyes and wipe them. I don't know if I can keep it I; I'm so unused to Darry baring his soul that his admissions are overwhelming. We've come so far and I don't know how we could have ever not been this close.

Darry keeps talking, voice low and deep. "You and Soda, you're the most important things in my life…and not being able to be there…to help you—" He breaks off and bows his head. Darry cracks out an angry laugh and smears his face in his free hand.

"I can't believe he was my fucking electrician. That whole damn time…he was at the shop, just doin his job, working right alongside me and Steve…when he was really out there watching you…and out hurting those boys…"

"Darry…"

"I let him in. He was close enough to notice you and I'm sure as hell sorry for that, Ponyboy."

I struggle to sit up so I can look at him better. "Darry, you can't always be there."

"I'm gonna try, Ponyboy. As long as I live I'm gonna try damn hard."

The buzz in my head sounds and I tell myself, _don't. Don't_.

Darry gets up from the chair and sits on the edge of my bed. His face young and old at the same time. "Soda's not talking much. But if you want…" Darry takes a pause, trying to say what he feels. It's hard because I know he's struggling but he means it. And that hurts even worse. "You can talk to me. I'll listen. No matter what you say. No matter what happened there."

I nod fast. _Don't. Don't_.

He watches me. Looks unsure. Finally, Darry says, "You know I love you, right, Ponyboy?"

That's enough. I bring my hands to my face.

OoO

I tell Darry about the bodies in the back room. About my fear that Soda would be hurt. I tell him.

I tell him most of it.

OoO

That night, I dream about Willy Wiese. About Walter Wentworth. All the W's in my life. I think I cry in my sleep but I can't be sure because when I open my eyes, Darry's saying, "Kiddo, it's okay. I'm here." He hugs me and I can't ever remember my brother being this kind. But I'm thankful for it. And I can tell Darry needed this.

_I_ needed it; this night to just be together.

Something dark shifts in the room and it's a nurse. She adjusts my IV, the cords, and then slips out.

"You were dreaming," Darry says when she's gone. "It's okay."

"I miss dad."

"I know."

I wipe sweat from my face. "I feel like hell, Darry."

"I know that too. C'mere…"

Gently, Darry rolls me over onto my good arm. He rubs my shoulder, rubs my bony back through my hospital gown, and even though I feel like an invalid, I appreciate my brother more than he'll ever know. I shut my eyes and try to relax.

"Better?" he asks.

"He's here," I say. "Walter Wentworth. You know that, right?"

"I do," he says and even though I can't see his face I hear the anger in his voice. "I don't like that he's here, Ponyboy. I'm trying to get him moved but there may not be a lot I can do."

Of course he is. Of course Darry is doing everything he can. He's the best at that. At fighting.

"I saw him, you know," I say and Darry bristles. "I saw him in post-op."

"Don't think about it. Don't think about him."

"I don't understand," I mumble. "I don't understand how he could do it." I'm not making sense because of all the drugs I'm on but it's late and I need to talk. "Hurt those kids like that. Sixteen are dead and he's still alive? I don't understand…"

"People do sick things, Ponyboy," Darry says and he sounds so sorry. His hand moves in smooth circles over my spine. "Sometimes you can't explain it all…even though I know you want to, kiddo."

"Darry, I saw those bodies. They were all stacked in the backroom, piled on top of each other. Hacked up and cut off and bleeding. The entire room was blood. And there's no reason for it, at least nothing that makes sense. I just need to know why. I just need to know. I just need to kn—"

"Hey, hey," Darry says softly. "Don't work yourself up over this tonight. You need rest, Pony. You need to sleep."

The bed shifts, Darry moving, and I roll over to grab his arm. "Don't go, Dar."

"Ponyboy," Darry says, his eyes searching my face, like he hopes I understand. "I ain't leaving here again without you."

OoO

A day later I get transferred to the general floor of the hospital.

With Darry back, the wing near my room gets turned into our own personal madhouse. The guys camp out. Everyone trades shifts, staying with me, going to work; I never know who'll show up. Darry gets the doctor kicked off my case and gets a new one. Kathy's now my nurse.

Soda and Liz watch Darry carefully like they don't trust him to hold it together.

Nick brings me the newspaper and I get restless.

OoO

Commotion outside my room. Loud voices and then a shout. I sit up in bed and close my book. The door cracks open, big enough for Steve Randle to slink through, but he doesn't shut it. He turns and snaps at the person outside, "Hey asshole, I'm about this close from kicking your fucking ass down the hall—yeah, I'd walk away too, buddy…"

He waits, back tensing and then slams the door shut. Steve looks at me and then wrinkles his nose. "Jesus."

"I know," I say. "It smells like a florist in here."

Flowers and plants are crammed on the window sill and on the bureau. The room looks like a forest. They're from the Tulsa World, Mrs. Miles, Karen Mathews, and some even from complete strangers I've never met.

"So what was all that about?" I ask, nodding toward the door.

"Fuckin' reporters," Steve swears. "Been camping out for a story. Wait until Superman shows up and catches 'em. That's a show I wouldn't want to miss."

I think about it and Steve catches my expression. "Hell," he says. "You'll never be like that kid. You got a soul."

I smile crookedly as he sits at the small table and cracks a warm Pepsi. He takes a slurp.

"How'd they get in anyway?"

"No clue. But it ain't that hard. Not exactly secure 'round here." Steve's eyes turn to slits. "Why?"

"No reason. Just wonderin."

He still looks suspicious but turns back to his magazine. Kicks his feet up on the small table. "Darry's got someone at the shop he's gotta meet with," Steve explains. "I told him I'd keep you company."

I glance at the door. That's the one great thing about my new room. Lack of security.

OoO

Lights flash. A hallway elongates, white limbs rolling like bowling ball pins. I twist and jerk, like flames are licking my body. There's someone in the hall. He has a match. I think I know him—

"Dad?"

"No, kid…" The voice gets farther away. A whisper. "Hey, uh, Sodapop…"

"Dad?"

A gentle shake. "Hey, Pony…you're just dreamin'…wake up…"

I open my eyes and suck in a breath. It's just Sodapop and Two-Bit. I blink away sleep. "I was…I thought dad was here…"

Soda gives me a smile and brushes my hair away. "Looks like you're stuck with us."

I let out a laugh. "That ain't so bad."

OoO

"Leave me alone."

Darry rubs his brow. "Pony…"

"This shit is making me tired," I snap at the nurse as she tries to stick me with a needle full of liquid. "I don't want it anymore."

"Ma'am," Darry says, sticking a hand out. "Can we just not…?" He shakes his head as she turns wide eyes his way. Everyone's heard of his reputation and is trying to steer clear. "Not right now."

After adjusting a monitor, the nurse quickly hurries out and Darry sighs. "Why do you keep fightin' everyone, Ponyboy? They're only trying to help."

I tug at cords, frustrated and tired. They're keeping me doped and exhausted and I don't even have the energy to focus anymore. "You try being stuck here for a week. I don't want anyone's help. I just want to get out of here."

Irritation crosses Darry's face. He's been patient so far but when push comes to shove he'll shove. "You're in here until you're better," he snaps. "Don't even think about checking yourself out. Just drop it."

"Drop what?" Soda asks, rushing into the room with an armful of candy bars. He and Two-Bit have been living off of them for the last week. He piles them onto the table and adds a pack of cigarettes to the top of it.

"Nothing," Darry says quietly, like he just realized we've been arguing and is sorry for it. He rubs the back of his neck and eyes me. "Maybe I can have Kathy bring in a wheelchair if you want to get out and—"

The buzz sounds in my head and I close my eyes. The one thing I've neglected to mention to my brother. Because it didn't seem important at the time. But now…now it's the worst kind of memory. Blood drains from my face. "I don't want that." When I open my eyes, Soda's frozen, his eyes locked on the floor, and I get it. Soda didn't tell him either.

"Well, then, what do you want, Ponyboy? I'm trying to help you out and you won't tell me a goddamn thing—"

"I don't want _anything_, okay. Especially that. Can you just go? Can you both just go?"

Soda looks hurt. "Ponyboy…"

"Just get out of here, Soda. Please. Just go."

OoO

Darry comes back later that night. He sits on the edge of my bed. "Soda told me what happened, Ponyboy. I shouldn't have—"

"It ain't your fault. You didn't know. I was an asshole."

"Soda still won't tell me much," Darry says awkwardly. "You know how he is…I keep askin but he just won't talk."

I nod, in agreement. Darry and I both saw how he was with Sandy. Soda bottles it, I deny it, and Darry just yells about it; we all carry our stress in different ways. I wonder how Darry's juggling the both of us; being here with me and trying to control Sodapop.

"He did tell me about the wheelchair," Darry says, his face pained. "Ponyboy, why didn't you tell me? Kiddo, I'm so—"

"I didn't think it would bother me," I admit, staring down at my hands. I try to still them. "I didn't want it to get to me."

"Pony, you're allowed to let it get to you. You got that? I'd be worried if you didn't. You've been through so much and now this."

He makes me look at him and I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.

OoO

"So no wheels, huh?"

"Nope. No wheels."

"Letting you walk around scot-free and with no pants on. I worry about your hobbies, kid."

I smile at Two-Bit. He's volunteered to get me out of my room and walk around the halls. And though it's about as exciting as watching paint dry I'm ready for a change of scene. Luckily, Kathy managed to get hold of a hospital gown that closes in the back. I hold onto his elbow to keep from falling. Two-Bit moves slow, keeping pace with me. He's been here nearly every day and I wonder how he really is.

"Thanks for doin' this. For bein' here, man."

"Hey, where else would I be? The hospital doesn't have a bar."

Kathy approaches in a pair of pink scrubs, stethoscope around her neck. "And how's our patient doing?"

"A little whiny," Two-Bit says. "But I guess he'll survive."

"Well, that's good to know," Kathy says, propping hands on her hips to evaluate me. "Although, it could be the company."

I laugh and Two-Bit scoffs. "Hey, baby, whose side are you on?"

"The patient's of course," she volleys. She eyes me. "How are you feeling?"

"Better now that I'm out of there."

"Cabin fever, huh?"

"Yeah, exactly. Sometimes I think I can't stay cooped up in there any—"

I let go of Two-Bit's elbow. My face flushes.

Another nurse has just wheeled in Walter Wentworth, propped up in a wheelchair. He's thinner than I remember and paler. A thin sheen of sweat pops on his brow, on his mustache. The buzz sounds, loud but steady. Seeing him, up close and in person, is more surprising than scary.

Two-Bit doesn't get it but Kathy does. "Molly, what're you doing?" Kathy snaps. "He's not supposed to be out now." The young nurse frowns, quizzical.

Walter's head swivels to me. "I missed you. So much. I knew you'd come back to me." He licks his lips.

I stay still, feet planted. He looks at my arm. "That. I still want that."

Frowning, Two-Bit eyes his wife. "Who the fuck is this, Kath?"

"It's…it's the guy, Two-Bit," she stutters, unsure what to say, and Two-Bit's gray eyes widen. "It's the guy who did it all." Kathy grabs Molly's arm. "Take him back to his room. He shouldn't be here."

Jaw tight, I take a step forward. I don't know what to feel. I'm not scared. Stunned but not afraid. Adrenaline surges. Eyes narrowing, I ask, "How's it feel to be in the chair this time, Walter?"

Walter rocks the wheelchair. He giggles. "I'm still gonna get you…"

Two-Bit steps in front of me, pushing me away. He faces me. His voice is hushed. "Don't listen to him, kid. Let's go back to your room. C'mon…"

But I can't. Transfixed, I stare. Walter reaches a hand out. "My boy…"

I jerk back. It's Willy Wiese in my head. His phrase: My Boy. Sick, I clench my eyes shut and prop a hand against the wall. "I need you," Walter says. "I been watchin you at the site. I saw you at your house. I'll never get you out of my head until I—"

Turning, Two-Bit sticks the front of his foot on the wheel of the wheelchair and shoves Walter Wentworth back into Molly. "Don't talk to him. Shut the fuck up."

Wentworth ignores Two-Bit. Lisps, "I still think of you. I'm gonna get you—"

"Get him out of here, Kathy," Two-Bit says, his voice heated. "Get him out of here _now_."

Kathy moves fast. "C'mon," she hisses at the befuddled nurse. She grips the wheel chair and rolls Walter Wentworth away.

"Hey," Two-Bit says. He has a hand on my face. "You okay? You with me, kid?"

"I'm okay, man."

He doesn't believe me but he doesn't say anything. I watch close but I don't see what room Walter Wentworth is in.

OoO

Soda's in the corner. "I can't believe this," he mutters. His voice gets louder. "I mean what the hell is he still doing here, Darry?"

Darry runs a hand down his face, stopping to rub the bottom of his grizzled jaw. "I don't like it anymore than you do, but, Soda you gotta stop this worrying. You need to get out of here if you can't handle it. Go home and relax—"

It's the wrong choice of words – Darry sees it as soon as he says it. "Soda, I didn't—"

"I can handle it," Soda snaps. "I just don't want him anywhere near my brother. I thought you'd understand that."

Darry tenses, taking the insult personally. "Of course I do. There just may not be a lot we can do about it at the moment. I'm trying though."

"You guys, don't," I say as they stare at each other. "It's okay." Helplessly, Darry shoves his hands in his pockets.

"I'm sick and tired of all this shit," Soda says. "I just want it to be over. I just want it to be all over." He looks at me. "I want to take you and go home."

"Soda…"

My brother turns on his heel and leaves the room, the door slamming sharply.

I sit up in bed. "Go," I urge because I can't. "Go, Dar."

My oldest brother takes off after Sodapop.

OoO

A day passes. Darry tells me Soda finally cracked. He talked. But now Soda's hurting. He stays away from the hospital.

There's this deep cavernous ache that I want to fill. I don't want to hide it away. I want to fix it. I want to find the answer to what's been happening for the last six months. I want to talk to the Tulsa Terror, as much as for myself as everyone else. Brad, Soda…they need to heal.

I pick up the phone and call the one person who can help.

OoO

"You ready?" Nick asks.

"Yeah." I grab the edge of the blanket, ready to throw the covers off when the door swings open and Liz walks in. She smiles. "Hey Ponyboy, hey Nick."

I sink back into the bed. _Damn it._

Liz goes to the window and opens it, letting in a fresh breeze. "Your brothers are heading over soon. I figured I'd stop over to see if you needed anything."

Nick taps his foot on the ground. He gives me a look, telling me this can't wait all day. I eye Liz and wish I didn't have to do what I'm about to do, especially to her…but this won't wait. I give Nick a slight nod.

Nick coughs. I sit up and toss my book off the bed. It slaps the ground. Liz glances away from the window just in time to see me wince. I touch my arm.

"Pony?"

"Liz, can you get a nurse? I ain't feeling too hot…"

I double over and Liz is there in an instant. She touches my face, checking for temperature, and after a second glance at me, hurries out of the room.

"You're such a dick," Nick says with a laugh.

I give him the finger. I scoot out of bed and Nick tosses me a pair of pants from his backpack. I change quick and breathe a sigh of relief when my feet touch the cool tile.

"It's Room 1012, Curtis," Nick says. "He's just down the hall. Move your ass."

OoO

I slip into his room. It smells like antiseptic and rot. Instantly, Walter Wentworth turns his face toward me. The same ugly, evil face I remember from the Mobil. One of his monitors spikes and chirps. He giggles.

Instead of fear, anger surges. I lock his door, keeping an eye on the hallway through the thin window. He giggles again and says, "I knew you was comin to me."

On shaky legs, I move forward and stand close to his bed. My arm starts throbbing, telling me this is against the rules and that the pain will make me pay for it later.

"I still want you," he lisps through dry lips. His eyes move to my bandaged arm. "I want that."

"Walter," I say. "You're done killing. Forever."

"No. No."

"Yes. Now it's my turn. I want something from you. I want a goddamn answer. I want to know why you did it. Why'd you kill those boys?"

"It's the worst habit I ever had." Walter Wentworth laughs and my blood goes cold.

"Tell me."

"Because of Ken."

"Ken?"

"Barbie's boyfriend."

Oh Jesus.

"We was playin Barbies. Me and my Missy. Then Daddy came home one night and hurt her. She was just my little sister. The bad hurt. I grabbed Ken and hid in the closet so he couldn't find me too. And ohhh, I was so nervous and scared and I hugged Ken so tight that I broke his arm. It just snapped right off. It made me feel so much better. I did it whenever I was scared."

The buzz in my head.

Wentworth looks me in the face. His eye rolls. "I wanted to try it with a live boy. Build my own Ken. But no one ever had what I wanted. Except you. You make me happy."

"Why? Why me?"

"Because your brother was nice to me givin me a job. I wanted to do something nice for you."

"If that's _nice_, man, then I'm fucking crazy," I grit out. I lean close. "You ain't gonna do this again. You're not going to hurt Brad or any other boy for the rest of your life. You're gonna die for this, Walter."

"I'll still get _you_. I know it."

"Bullshit, all you're gonna get is a goddamn life sentence at—"

I cut off, threat forgotten, as across the loudspeaker a nurse announces that DARREL CURTIS is being called to my room.

OoO

_Pardon typos!_

_Update to come this Sunday._

_Thank you for reading. As always…you're all the best._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	34. A Rally

_No cliffie. Rejoice._

A Rally

OoO

Ignoring the stares from the night nurses, I run like hell down the hall, faster and faster, until I round a corner and slam shoulders with someone. We're both knocked back and I see that it's Steve Randle.

"Christ!" Steve grabs the front of my hospital gown to steady us. His dark eyes practically bug out when he realizes who it is. "What the _fuck_?"

"_Oh, shit!_" I half scream, half hiss as my shoulder throbs. It burns and aches but this is my punishment for being a jackass and sneaking out of my room.

I dip low and breathe but keep moving, dragging him along. Steve's hand is still gripping a hefty amount of cotton gown. Darry's still being called over the loudspeaker. URGENT, ATTENTION DARREL CURTIS, PLEASE REPORT TO ROOM 1030…

"You're dead," Steve says, finally letting go. He takes off after me as I start running again. "You're so fucking dead, Ponyboy."

I run down the hall, Steve on my heels until I reach the right corridor. Skidding to a stop, I throw the door to my room open and Nick stops mid-pace, wide-eyed.

"Now. Hurry." He points at the bed. I don't even have time to take off my pants.

OoO

"I told you," I say with a shrug. "Some nurse just took me for a quick check-up. She brought me right back. You must've just missed her."

It's bad enough I had to lie to Liz but now everyone is in the room to hear it. Darry, Soda, Liz, Kathy, Steve, Nick…

Genius that he is, Nick had blabbed to Liz that the nurse had taken me for tests, returned without me, claiming she had lost me and gone and got them all worked up.

Annoyed, Darry says, "This is ridiculous. They have complete idiots running this place." He holds up a hand. "Sorry, Kathy."

She laughs. "Hey, I second that."

"You sure you're okay?" Liz asks. She presses a hand against my forehead. "You're awfully warm."

I wipe away the sweat from my brow. The run down the hallway pushing my limit. "I'm okay. I swear." Nick bites back a smile.

"What nurse?" Steve asks, sticking his hands into his pockets. "I mean, describe her. Maybe we can track her down. Ask her why she's such a fuck up."

I shoot him a glare and clench my teeth. "She was just a nurse, Steve."

Kathy smiles, removing the thermometer from my ear. "Yep, he's okay. Just a little flushed."

Soda rests a hand on top of the blanket covering my jeans. "You had me worried, Ponyboy."

Steve looks mad enough to kill me.

OoO

After they've all cleared out of the room, Steve goes in for a punch. I duck and he misses, slugging my good shoulder instead. Glaring, he says, "You're fucking lucky you're in this bed right now, or I'd beat the shit out of you."

I rub my arm. "Christ, Steve."

"You know, you get hurt again, it's on _you_ this time. Don't come whining to us."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, fuck me, you spoiled brat. I know what you were doing, Ponyboy. You near goddamned died and what do you go and do? Chasin' a killer around the hospital?"

"I had to. You wouldn't understand."

"I don't want to understand, Ponyboy." He sounds tired. Steve watches as I shrug out of my jeans. I toss them on the ground and situate myself in bed. He leans against the wall. "I hope you got what you wanted, kid. Because I ain't helping you again."

He leaves and I wonder what he meant.

OoO

The end was in sight. Two days to go. With Wentworth's confession I have a real story now. Everyone's been breathing easy, feeling better, and then they walk in.

OoO

The cops from earlier are back. Guy Walden sits at the end of my bed in a hard chair, his partner lounging near the window. My brothers are both at work, unable to take any more time off.

"Glad to see you're doin' okay, kid," Walden grunts.

I frown at the pointless small talk. "What do you want?'

Nervous, they glance at each other. "What?" I ask, sitting up in bed. "What is it?"

Walden says, "It's this case, kid."

"What about it?"

"I'm afraid I got bad news for you." He takes a breath. "We may not have a case anymore."

The buzz sounds in my head and I ask, "What? He admitted he did it, right? How can you not have anything?"

"The arresting officer failed to read Walter Wentworth his Miranda rights. Now it's not the end-all but…since Walter already freely admitted to the murders, the prosecutor can't use anything he said as evidence against him at his trial."

I gawk. "But that ain't possible is it?"

"Now he's not talking. Lawyer's claiming insanity. Wants him to do a stint for a year and then walk."

Vision glazing, I think of the bodies, the limbs stacked up. The 16 boys. The parents waiting for vindication. Bradley Taylor kidnapped, Soda in a cell, screaming…

"…okay?" I scrunch my eyes shut. "Kid, are you okay?" Detective Walden's partner is asking.

"This can't happen," I say, finally looking at the two of them. "How can this happen?"

"We're gonna do all we can to make sure it doesn't," Walden says. To his credit he looks honest. Sorry.

"It shouldn't pan out to anything…but whatever happens, it's just gonna drag this out even further. Trials. Costs. We'll need you to be there for the ride. It's gonna be a hell of a hassle."

"So why are you telling me this?" I snap. "You're the ones who screwed this up. You should fix it. Fix it now before he can get outta here."

_God, if he gets out…_

Walden's face hardens. "I don't think you understand. You're a fucking reporter. This is the law. We have rules to get shit closed. You know, maybe if you stopped snooping around we could have closed this ourselves without your help screwing this up."

I tug on one of my cords. The buzz is getting louder. "Get out of here." When they don't move, I shout, "Go on! Get the hell out."

Walden and his partner mutter awkward goodbyes.

When they leave I sit there, my face burning, the incredulousness of the situation, of the anger seeping into my veins. Cold red-hot chills. I haven't been this angry in a long time. Insane rage. He's going to get away with it. This will drag out. Soda and Bradley Miles will never be free of him. Darry will never look at his company the same way again. And if Walter Wentworth walks a free man after everything that's happened I don't know what I'll do. I worked my ass off, beat up myself and others, to solve this story. And this is it? This is how it ends?

_Jesus. Jesus Christ._

I stare at the wall, black swarming, and then with a vicious jerk I slam my right forearm into the lamp on my nightstand. It doesn't even register. Glass explodes. I let out a yell as my stitches rip, as my arm throbs, but the yell comes from somewhere else. It's not from pain—it's from somewhere darker. Guttural.

A cord rips as I slam my hand onto the nightstand; once, twice until I can't yell anymore.

OoO

Dark. Dark everywhere.

I hear the sounds of Darry's bootsteps as he crosses the room. They stop. A door is cracked and he whispers to someone. It shuts again.

I suck in a breath as the nurse adjusts my IV. Then she's leaving and a shadow moves near my bed. When I open my eyes, Darry's standing there, arms crossed. "What were you thinking, Ponyboy? What were you _doing_? Jesus Christ, almighty."

I turn my face away.

It's gone. Inside. Beat down and tossed around too many times, the drive to fight has disappeared. I can feel it, like something tangible and prized is missing. I'm tired and the effort, the people it's cost me is too much. I feel hollow, sick.

"Talk to me, Ponyboy." Darry says, hovering. When I don't say anything Darry sighs. He sits on the edge of my bed. "You're in for another week now, you know that don't you?"

I stare at the white wall. The drugs have set in, liquid anesthesia in my bloodstream.

"Ponyboy? Are you even listening? What the hell happened?"

"Nothing."

"Why in the hell would you go and do a thing like that? Do you know how badly you could have hurt yourself? You're lucky all you did was tear stitches."

The damage wasn't that bad – my stitches needed to be sewn back up, but now I'm on psych evaluation. The doctors won't let me out for another week until they can be sure I won't hurt myself.

Darry runs a hand down my arm, and rests it on top of the leather binds holding me to the bed. "I don't even know if I should take these off, kiddo. I love you – but I don't know if I trust you right now. I'm sorry, Ponyboy, but I can't…"

"It doesn't matter."

Frustrated, Darry squeezes my wrist tight and says, "I'm trying to help you. But I can't if you won't let me."

"I don't want help. No one can help."

Darry turns away from me, a hand on his mouth. The door opens.

"I don't know what to do," he tells Sodapop. "I don't know what to do."

OoO

Shakily, Soda undoes the binds around my wrists. "I can't believe you, Darry," he swears. "God damn it."

"Soda…" Darry starts.

"No. He doesn't need these. He's not…" Soda chokes on his words and takes a breath to compose himself. He makes me look at him. "Ponyboy, you need to tell me what the fuck happened. Right now. Tell me so I know you didn't try to hurt yourself on purpose. Tell me. _Tell me_. _Tell me now_."

Monotone, I say, "The cops came by," and then tell my brothers the rest of the story. "They screwed it up," I finish. "They screwed it all up."

Darry says, "Jesus," and starts his familiar pacing.

"Everything's gone," I say. "It doesn't matter what I do. Nothing works. Nothing stays. He's going to walk and he'll still be out there."

"Listen to me," Soda says, climbing on top of the bed. He's close, his heat radiating. "I'm okay, Ponyboy. I really am. I don't talk about it because it's hard, but I am okay. I should have talked about it with you though. I couldn't at first…because…hell, the scariest part was watchin' him hurt you, kiddo. That near killed me. I couldn't relive it. But I should've. I should've talked to you."

"Walter Wentworth isn't important," Soda says. "You're here, and I'm here, and he doesn't matter anymore."

Soda picks up my limp hand as I start to cry.

OoO

By now everyone knows there's a possibility that Walter Wentworth will get released. Still on psych watch, the therapist comes to see me every day. I don't say much and let Darry or Sodapop reassure him that I'm fine, that I'm just upset by the latest turn of events.

I sleep a lot. I dream. I try to forget.

OoO

"Kid, you want a book or something?"

"No thanks." I close my eyes so I don't have to stare at the ceiling.

Two-Bit lowers the volume on the TV. "Want to play cards? Checkers? Go Fish? I can make a pipe out of an apple core."

I sigh. "You should just go on home, man."

He leans back against the radiator. Two-Bit's in jeans and a t-shirt that says _Keep on Truckin'_. "So you just gonna lay here all day feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Might as well. I ain't got nothing better to do."

"C'mon, kid. You gotta give me something."

"Just go home, Two-Bit."

"I know you're hurtin, Pone, but you gotta snap out of this. You got a life to live." Two-Bit rubs his face. "I prayed hard for that life too, bargained with a lot of people, so don't let me down."

I look at my friend, someone I've known my whole life and realize he's doing the best he can. He's trying to help. I owe him an explanation for acting like an asshole. But I can't do it. I just can't rally.

"Kid?"

"I'm scared, Two-Bit."

"Of what?"

"I don't know what's going to happen next."

"Hell, Pony, I'll tell you what will happen next…" He plops into a chair and kicks his boots up on the nightstand. He swipes a comic book from the floor. "We're gonna read this picture story here. You got three more days …then you'll go home. We'll have a party because it's not a party if I'm not there and then you'll be Ponyboy Curtis and you'll do whatever the hell it is that you do."

He points at me. "But you'll stay out of trouble. I'll goddamn make sure of that."

"So we're back to the babysitter thing?"

Two-Bit laughs. "Kid, you bet your ass."

OoO

The door opens. "Pony?" Soda says. "Someone's here to see you…" He opens it wider, unveiling Bradley Miles.

My stomach drops. The kid shuffles in, wearing a shy smile. The sleeve of his right arm is pinned back, no more prosthesis. Soda backs out of the room, leaving us alone.

"Hey Ponyboy," Brad says, moving close. He sets a package he's carrying on the nightstand. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm okay," I say, wishing Sodapop would've told him I'm asleep. "It's been a long stay."

"Yeah." He sits near the bed. "I heard."

I evaluate Brad. He's put some weight back on, the right sleeve of his arm is pinned back, no prosthetic. "How are you doing? You look good."

"I feel better. I was really worried about you."

I force a smile. "I'm alright. I'll get out of here soon."

"Your brothers have been real great," Brad says. "Comin by to check on me and my ma." The lump in my throat gets bigger. Brad takes a shaky breath, his eyes filling. "Thank you for finding me, Ponyboy. Thank you for saving me."

"Brad, I didn't—"

"But you did. You saved me. Twice. Nick told me about the first one," he says when I raise an eyebrow. "I didn't know that."

I can't say anything. I just stare.

"My ma told me how you kept looking. You didn't give up. And—and I won't either, you know?" He wipes at his face. "I could be scared and think about this for the rest of my life but then I think about you and what you did. If you didn't give up, I can't."

I remember when Johnny died. How I just wanted to hide away and disappear. But I couldn't because then it would be all for nothing. Johnny's memory lost on someone who didn't care.

Bradley says, "The cops told me about Walter Wentworth. How he might get away with it. If he does, it's not your fault – it's not my fault. They'll get him, somehow. In the end."

"Ponyboy?" Brad asks when I'm silent.

"You really believe that?"

"I – I got to," Brad says, sounding unsure. "Don't you?"

"I don't know anymore."

"Pony?"

"What?"

"Did you ever write the story?"

"No." I sigh and lean my head back. "Nick did. It was in the paper. Why?"

"Because _you_ should write it," Brad says in his eager, youthful tone. "It's not the same if you don't."

"Brad, I can't."

"Why? Why not?" Then, without waiting for a reply, Brad sets the box he's been holding on my lap. Defiantly, he juts his chin out. "Here. I did this for you. So you can use it to write your part. They ain't good so you'll have to fix them."

Numbly, I sit up and open the wrapped box. I remove the top of it and blink. I look at Bradley Miles' confused face. I don't know what to say.

OoO

Darry comes later that night. He doesn't say a greeting, instead he wraps a hand around my wrist and leans close. "Listen to me. Now. Because I'm only saying it once."

I haven't spoken to my brother for two days. All I do is sleep and when he's in the room I pretend to sleep. His hurt and anger so raw I can feel it. Darry's blue eyes are soft, but when he speaks his voice is tough.

"You gotta let this go, Ponyboy. You worked hard. I'm proud of you, kiddo. You did your job and you did it damn well, okay? You got that? But your part is over. You can't do anything else. The cops – if they screw it up – we'll get through it. We'll be okay. Soda will be okay."

"But if you keep dwelling on this, _you_ won't be. Shape up, Ponyboy. Get better and come home to us."

OoO

I get myself together. I read what Bradley Miles gave me. He wrote a book about what happened when he was with the Tulsa Terror. The words are jumbled and amateur but they're his words. He trusts me with them. If he can do it…

I pick up the pen he tucked away in the box and I scrawl a sentence on the back of the gift box. I write another and before I know it, the box is filled with my words. In my voice. I reread them and I take a breath. I remember the promise I made to Darry. There's a lot more where those came from. There's an idea too.

OoO

Nick hands me a pack of M&M's. Smuggling things into my hospital room is his forte these days. I open the bag and chew a handful.

"So I've I been thinking, Nick…"

"And that," Nick says. "Is a dangerous thing, Curtis."

"No more. I can't do it anymore."

"Do what?"

"I'm done. Done working for Max. For the paper."

"Okay…" he says slowly. "What about writing?"

"I ain't done with that. Just done there. It ain't the right place for me."

"So what're we going to do now?"

"We?"

"Yeah, well, I've been thinking about a new line of work."

I raise an eyebrow and sit up in bed, refueled from my recent idea. "We should still write the story. Only this time _our_ story."

Nick's eyes glow. "What're you thinkin', Curtis?"

"I was thinkin…what about a book?"

"A book, huh? That's big time."

I rub my jaw and grin. "I know it is."

OoO

"So I can tell him?" Nick laughs and slings the bag over his shoulder.

"Tell him." Not being out of bed for at least a week, I move my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet touch cool tile. "I don't care."

"Man," Nick says, moving aside as Liz and Darry enter the room. "I can't wait to see the look on Max's face."

"What's goin on?" Darry asks.

"Big Time just quit," Nick announces. He shoots me a grin. "See ya tomorrow."

"Oh, Pony…" Liz says when Nick leaves. "Are you sure?"

I glance at Darry and frown. "I thought you'd be happy." Cautiously, he watches as I stretch and stand. Liz moves closer to the bed. She gives me a light smile.

"I don't want you to give up your job for me, Ponyboy," Darry says. "But kiddo, if you're sure…I ain't gonna argue with you about it."

"I ain't givin it up." I give my brother a goofy smile and take a step in his direction. "I'm just gonna do something different with it."

Darry's face is about as relieved as I've ever seen. And it feels good to do something for my brother. Even though I want it too, it means more to him.

Darry darts forward as my legs nearly give out. He grips my arm and sits me down on the bed. "Different, huh?"

But he's smiling.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_Sheesh, finally a cheery ending for once. Ok. More to come. Thanks for all the reads and reviews. It seriously boggles the mind. But I so appreciate._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	35. A Visit

_Cliffhanger. BIG. AWFUL. MEAN._

A Visit

OoO

The door opens and shuts. "I heard you were in here."

"Jesus." I look at the ceiling and groan. "You came all the way out here for this?"

Heels click across the floor, calling to mind memories of a Miami hospital. Rosie Trafficante stands at the foot of my bed. "Mikey. I missed you."

"You here you kill me or save me, Rosie?"

"My, my, getting bolder, aren't we?"

"Not bolder. I'm just tired."

Her mouth turns up. As always, Rosie's in her normal attire: skirt, jacket, heels, and a dark bun on top of her head. She smells like peppermint, pink gloss on her lips. I wonder how she got in here but then remember this hospital's lax security. She probably passed my brothers in the hall more than once.

"I'm here to give you a souvenir," she says. Walking around the bed, she rests next to the nightstand. She sets a box of matches down on top of the wood counter. It reads _The Casablanca_.

"What's this?"

"A reminder."

"I thought we were done with that. You know, when you didn't blow my brains out."

"It's a _nice_ reminder," Rosie says. "A parting gift. A peace offering of what you're done with."

I just look at her. "Why're you really here, Rosie?"

"I make it a priority to know what happens to all my…acquaintances." Rosie Trafficante raises a brow. "And besides, I felt congratulations were in order. You stopped a bad guy." She trills a laugh. "You always were a strange kid."

This time, I laugh. "Thanks a lot."

"I'm serious though…" She reaches up and removes a long, metal needle-sharp hairpin from her bun. Her hair topples in loose, dark waves. She sets the pin on the nightstand next to the box of matches and then fluffs out her hair. Her pretty face relaxes.

"I meant what I said. I'm really here to play nice, Mikey. I wanted to make sure that you were okay. See if you needed anything. Any…help."

Confused, I shift in bed, my eyes scanning the room. "What is this?"

"The monster's still alive, isn't he? Room 1012?" She grins, a gorgeous, deadly smile. "I could do you a favor."

"No," I say, eyes widening. "No, Rosie."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." I won't do it like this. Never. I could never do that and live with myself. Plus, I don't need to owe a favor to Rosie Trafficante. I won't go back there.

"It would be so easy. I could just go in and—"

"No."

"Suit yourself," she says. She sits on the edge of my bed. Moves close.

"How's Vinny?" I ask, meeting her dark eyes. I try to squirm away. She wants something. I can feel it.

"Daddy's fine. You'll see in a few weeks. Watch the news." Rosie tilts her head, dark hair rolling across her shoulders. "You interest me, Mikey. You won't let me kill for you, you keep your mouth shut and you're loyal. That's an impressive feat in this day and age."

"Ros—"

Leaning over, Rosie kisses me on the lips. It lasts a few moments and when she draws back, Steve Randle's in the doorway, clearing his throat. Rosie floats him a smile and then dips closer to me and says so low only I hear, "I'm real glad I didn't kill you, Mikey. I may need you in the future. Maybe we'll work together again someday."

"I doubt that," I say dryly.

Sliding off the bed, she smoothes her skirt. Flips dark hair over her shoulders. Rosie sashays over to a gawking Steve. Staring him down in the doorway, she holds out a hand.

"I'm a friend of your friend. I'm Rosie."

"Rosie, huh? I'm Steve."

They shake on it.

"Well, Steve," she grins, holding his hand for an extra long minute, and Steve flushes. "Watch out for him, will you?" To me, she says, "I'll see you."

Then she's gone. Steve sticks his head out the door to watch her leave. I roll my eyes.

He comes inside, a roguish smile on his lips. He whistles. "Now _that's_ a good looking broad, Ponyboy." Steve nods my way, looking proud and questioning.

"She your girl, kid?"

"God, no. Never."

"Really? You sure about that?"

"Steve, believe me, I wouldn't wish her on my worst enemy." I laugh. "Even you."

"Hell," Steve says. "Comin' from you that's a goddamn compliment."

OoO

"My Boy."

"Oh, my god, Willy."

He has fire in his hands. Bright and burning. He holds it out to me. "'Dis is comin for you."

I take the ball of flame in my hands. Willy, thin and gaunt, sits in an archaic looking throne. I realize it's an electric chair. "Did it hurt?" I ask. "When they killed you?"

"No, My Boy. Because I believed in a better place." My hands burn. But still I hold the flame. "Do you?" Willy asks. "Do you believe in a better place?"

I hold up the fire. "What is this?"

"Remember da little things count. The things that stick."

"Willy, I don't understand…"

"Like a pin. Like a needle."

"Willy."

"It's all goan fall down," Willy says. "You run 'dis time. Run fast and low."

Lights flash. I think I see my father.

OoO

"My hands, my hands—"

"Pony, there's nothing…it's okay, there's nothing there—"

"I got it, Sodapop," a female voice says. Something pricks my arm. "He'll relax in a few minutes."

Soda's voice, "Thanks, Kathy."

Someone holds me down. My hair's smeared back. The drug's seep into my system as I try to explain. "My hands, Sodapop…they were on fire…they burned…"

"No, they didn't, Ponyboy. You're okay."

"The lights are bright and it looks like dad's here..."

"Oh, kiddo," Soda says and he sounds so sad.

I drift off, wondering what Willy really wanted to tell me.

OoO

"Got a second?"

He slips in and closes the door. As soon as I see him I know it's a reporter. I close my book. "Buddy, I don't really care that you're here right now but I know a few people who will."

The guy, a goofy looking with a buzz cut and thick glasses, grins. "The big man, right? Standing guard outside? Yeah, I made sure he took a coffee break 'fore comin in here." He evaluates me. "Huh. You look younger in person."

I chuckle. "I ain't givin you an interview, man."

"Name's Pete Jensen with the Tulsa Independent. How about a quote?"

"Yeah," I say, a smile curling my lips. "I can think of a few I can give you."

"Okay, okay, I get it. How about—"

"Listen, I don't want to talk about the Tulsa Terror."

"I'm not here for him. I have a question about Willy Wiese."

This catches me off guard. I sit up in bed. "What?"

"Did you really think he was psychic? Or were you just putting up with him?"

"He was psychic," I say. "And even if he wasn't…he was a goddamn great actor and I'm the idiot."

"That's what I thought. I was just really curious." Pete the Reporter grins. "And one other thing…I was wondering if you knew about his will?"

I frown and Pete says, "He named you in his will. Won't release anything yet until you're outta here. God only knows what he left you."

"How'd you find out about that?" It's news to me. Another thing I have to deal with when I'm out of here.

"I have my sources."

"Hey man," a voice says as the door swings open. "How about we take this party somewhere else?"

Two-Bit enters, carrying what looks like a pair of pajamas. "Managed to wrangle some scrubs from Kath for you, Ponyboy." He glances at the reporter. "You're still here?"

"Was just leaving," Pete says. He flips me a wave as he goes.

OoO

Two-Bit's frown deepens as I tell him the news. "Jesus, Ponyboy," he swears. I grab the scrubs, stalk into the bathroom to change. His voice floats in. "Listen, kid, whatever that creep left you, you take it and you burn it. Toss it into the Arkansas. Drive over it with a bulldozer. Anything else but let it into your house."

"Why?" I ask, stripping out of my hospital gown and pulling on the pants. My arm's still bandaged but I manage to get the top on without much difficulty. "You think it's haunted?"

"Haunted or not, it's just plain creepy, kid…"

Tuning out his words, I lift my shirt, just now realizing that the scar on my stomach is lighter than it had been nine months ago. I trace a finger down the length of it, feeling the rippling flesh. It will probably never go away but that's fine. It's a part of my life I don't want to lose.

"Pone, how you doin'?" Two-Bit pops his head into the bathroom. His eyes move to my stomach and then back to my face.

I tug my shirt down. "I'm really okay."

"You know…" Two-Bit shuffles in and ruffles my hair. He smiles. "You look good in pants, kid."

OoO

"Word was out that you were still kicking."

I stop, caught off guard. Making my way back from the bathroom, I say silent thanks that Two-Bit brought me the scrubs especially with all the visitors I've been getting. I shake my head. "You gotta get out of here, Max."

"Up walking around and talking. Things must be _real_ good." Max is in a black leather jacket, black jeans and dark sunglasses. He sets a paper bag on the table. There's a thin cigar stuck behind his ear.

I sit on the edge of the bed, feet touching cool tile. "Yeah, things're goddamn swell."

Sidling over to the window, Max reads some of the cards attached to the flowers. "Sweet stuff," he muses. "Really tugs at the heartstrings." Max eyes me, takes off his sunglasses. "So what's this I hear about you not comin' back to the World?"

"I'm sure you're real torn up about it."

"Damn right I am. You know, Nick comes waltzin' in the other day and gives both your notices. My two best reporters out of there like that."

"You never wanted explanation from me, Max. So I figured why start now?"

"Ah, hilarious, Curtis. You want to play that I-created-a-monster game, well let's go there. You still got fight in you, so I'll fight."

"It's too late, man. I'm out. I'm done."

"Why? Because you don't like the way I'm running things?"

"Running things?" I yell and the heart monitor I'm attached to beeps, lines jumping. "You lied to me. To Nick. You put us in danger. It's different when I know about it…but this…this time it got out of control. _You_ were out of control."

I try to rein myself back. My voice shakes. "I was no better. Hell, I was goin along with it just as much as anyone. But…I can't anymore. I can't."

"Don't quit on me, Curtis. I need you."

"To do your dirty work, maybe."

"Christ, kid. You gonna make me beg?" Max asks.

I utter a laugh and scrub a hand down my face. "Give it up, man."

Evaluating me, Max removes the cigar from his ear. "Got a light?"

"There's a book of matches on the nightstand. Get it yourself."

Steps sound as he crosses the room, then Max says, "Ain't nothin here."

With a groan, my arm aching, I pull myself onto the bed, and see he's right. The book of matches with _The Casablanca_ scrawled across its top is gone. Rosie's needle-sharp hairpin still lies beside a glass of water. "Allow me," Max says, digging in his pocket to bring out a lighter. The end of his cigar glows.

"You can't smoke in here," Darry says, opening the door, and catching the tail end of the conversation. Steve follows him in, paperwork for the site under his arms.

Max takes one long puff and then dunks the cigar in my water glass. He puts his sunglasses on. "Your baby brother was just letting me in on his future unemployment choices."

"Whatever Ponyboy wants to do is his business," Darry sharply says. "Not yours."

Steve, sitting down at the table, eyes Max. "You know, Muscles did you a favor last time letting you walk away. Don't think he's gonna be so generous next go 'round."

Max's lips turn up in that smile of his I've come to know only means trouble. He says to me, "So where you gonna go, Curtis? Ain't a lot of papers in town that'd take a cripple like you."

He's being cruel because he doesn't have me anymore. But it doesn't bother me. I'm glad for it. I'll never be like Max. Never hurt those because I can. Get old and bitter and sick.

"Max," I say. "You sure can be a real prick when you don't get what you want."

"What about the story?" Max says. "Your MO gonna be not finishing what you start? Miami…this case…hell, I'm shocked you even managed to finish the Cherry Hills piece. I never figured you for a coward."

I sag against the bed, feeling the sting. "Fuck you."

"Get out," Darry commands. "Right now."

"Before I go," Max says, stepping over to the table. "I brought you something." He picks up the paper bag and sets it on the foot of my bed. Darry watches it like it's a ticking time bomb.

Max points at me before he leaves. "Don't say I never done nothin for you, Curtis. Remember that when you're missing me."

OoO

He got the tape cleaned up.

I had forgotten all about it. He must've found it in my locked drawer.

Where there was once static there are now words. For once Max came through.

"Oh holy shit, holy shit…" I twist in bed, moving onto my knees, and dip low to listen. I tug against the IV and finally just rip it out.

Darry sighs. "Pony…I swear to god..."

I wave him off as Willy's voice sounds, the familiar words beginning...

"So I still be tellin you what you need. Ponyboy Curtis, I heard your thoughts. You be willin' to bleed for this so you be ready to bleed somethin' fierce. You go back to the beginning. Back to where Bradley Miles started. Dat's where you'll find that boy. Remember da man in da sky. The long white arm….You'll walk like a man when you see it. It will be right 'dere...You been a great comfort to me My Boy in mah time of need. And so I tell you da last thing _you_ need to end dis all. To end your story…"

And then the new words, static-free and clear.

"…When you're in da whiteness and da lights flash and dere's dat burning make sure you wake up. When you fight reach out and see. Make sure you go down. Down, down where it's cool. Long white skeletons. You drag your bones to da ground, My Boy…drag da big one down. You get to a better place…"

I press a hand against my mouth. It's like my dream.

Steve says, "Play it again, kid."

OoO

Wide-eyed, I look at Darry.

Darry stares. "I don't know what to think, Ponyboy."

"It's like my dream. I've seen this…I just don't know what it means."

"Pony…" Darry frowns but that's all he says. A real testament to where we're at. I can tell my brother I'm pretty much dreaming the future and all he'll do is shoot me a dirty look. Now _that's_ progress.

Steve's gone to get Soda and bring him back to the hospital. I bite my lip. "We should go. Let me check myself out and—"

Darry's shaking his head. "We can't. You got one more day on psych evaluation. You check yourself out and it goes on your record. You have to stay here."

"It'll be okay," Darry says though I don't think he believes it. "Just one more day and we can take you home."

OoO

I cough on the smoke, stick hands in front of my face to push it away. Lights flash, even beats that light up the dark every few seconds. Panicked, I run and I run down a hallway that goes nowhere. Flames jump from the floorboards and my body burns. Willy materializes out of nowhere. "'Dat ting I told you about, it be happening soon, My Boy."

"What thing?" I ask.

"You never really listen do you, My Boy. You gotta listen and you gotta listen close."

I jerk as a flame snaps close to my body. A dark figure appears down the hall behind Willy. Willy opens his mouth and static pours forth.

OoO

The scream fills the space around the air.

I sit up fast and let out a breath. The room's lit in sunlight. It's empty for once. I survey, taking in the dying plants no one's bothered to water or throw out, the cigarette nubs, and tattered magazines.

It's morning and it's my full day and night in the hospital.

"I don't know what it means," I say aloud. "Damn it, Willy."

Even dead, he can't stop pissing me off.

OoO

Later that afternoon, Soda packs my bag. "I got it, Pony," he says as I hand him one of my books. He shoves the recorder into my duffel bag, a pair of socks.

Two-Bit slides into the room and saves a Playboy magazine from being trashed. "Kid, I thought I taught you respect for your women."

I crack a laugh and glance at my brother. "You got work, Soda. You're gonna be late."

He sighs and glances at the clock on the wall. "Shit."

"I'll finish packin'," I tell him as he slowly sets the bag on the ground. "Go on, get outta here."

"I don't like leavin' you here alone," Soda says, grimacing. He sits in a chair and starts tugging on his shoes.

"Hey, I'd stay," Two-Bit says. "But boss man ain't too happy these days."

"Jesus, go," I say, more worried than irritated. "Don't get fired on my account."

Normally someone tries to stay with me every night but this night schedules didn't match, which hits me with a strange foreboding but I try to push it off. It's like my last night at Cherry Hills, only this time it's Willy's words in my head.

"You call Kath if you need anything," Soda instructs, patting his pockets for his wallet. Two-Bit nods. "Darry and Steve'll try to close up shop at six. Call me at the DX if—"

"Soda, I'll be fine. Quit worrying."

Two-Bit gives me fast hug. "Hell, Ponyboy, next week we're gonna tear it up. Throw a party for your homecoming. Pick up where you left off. Minus the whole kidnapping thing."

I roll my eyes. Sodapop grins, an easy smile. He ruffles my hair. "I'll be here in the morning." He squeezes my shoulder. "You ready to go home, kiddo?"

"More than anything."

OoO

I finish packing, resisting the urge to listen to Willy's tape once more.

The night goes slow. Outside it starts to rain, walls shaking from the wind.

Darry calls once to check in. He sounds rushed and barely gets out a hello before he has to go again. Kathy checks my fluids, my temperature and watches a show on TV with me. They wheel my dinner in. I drink the chocolate milk but leave the rest of the food on the metal tray.

Finally they give me a shot of something for my arm and numbness descends. I can't wait to go home. Back to my brothers and my friends. Back to normalcy. And even though I have no idea what in the hell I'm going to do with my time now that I'm out of a job, I'm ready to slow down. For once in my life.

A quiet buzz in my head and then I'm out.

OoO

White flashes of light. _Off and on…off and on…off and on…_

It's bright and I'm hot. Hot. Really hot. I open my eyes, see the ceiling and hear the noise that's called me out of sleep.

_Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…_

It's not coming from my machines. It's from the sky – the wall. The lights flash, the beeping drones…sights and sounds signaling an emergency. Pulling against cords, I sit up. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize it's extra dark.

"Soda?" I ask the darkness, feeling stupid, but needing reassurance.

No answer. I let out a soft breath and then suck it in when I see the smoke. It's peeling underneath the door, thin, gray tendrils curling up and into my room. A tinny buzzing in my head, realizing why the fire alarm is going off and why the temperature in the room has risen.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I pause, deciding what to do, when I smell it. A noxious, familiar smell. Mentholatum and iron. The smell of blood.

There's movement in the darkness of my hospital room. A lone giggle.

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_I really don't know how to thank everyone who's reading. You all are amazing._

_More to come! Two left I think. Sadness._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	36. A Showdown

_Crazy chapter below. No cliffie though so breathe easy._

A Showdown

OoO

Walter Wentworth rushes out of the shadows, coming crazed. Something glints in his hand. I fly off of the bed, but he's fast and I'm groggy. Knocking into my tray of food, I trip. I slam onto the floor and go sprawling. Wentworth lands on top of me. Jell-O and the metal tray clatter next to us.

"You crazy son of a bitch!" I punch him in the face. I try to squirm away.

Wentworth pulls me up, slams me back down into the tile, where my skull bounces off of it like a ball of Silly Putty. I blink, getting a grip, as stars run through my vision.

"I told you I'd get you," Walter Wentworth says, running a fleshy palm down the side of my face. It rests across my throat and he pushes. Spots flash. He's gripping a scalpel. Colors begin to dull, my eyes roll, the buzz gets louder on my brain. Willy's words…

_Reach out and see…_

Using every last ounce of strength I have, before the light can die, I twist underneath him, reaching out, reaching, _reaching_…

Lightening quick, I grab the metal meal tray the nurses had brought my dinner on earlier, raise it and slam it across Walter Wentworth's face. With a grunt, he flops off, landing on his shoulder. He bellows into his hand as it cups his mouth, blood pouring between his fingers like a stream of lava.

I twist on the ground getting my bearings. In addition to the fire alarm, I hear a new type of ringing. My mind whirls to place it. _Ringing. Ringing. The phone's ringing…_

Choking, gagging on air, I roll over into a crouch. When I have enough air to move, I'm up and diving for the nightstand. I snatch up the phone and shout, "Darry, you gotta get over here—"

Something glints in my periphery. I drop the phone and grab Rosie's needle-sharp hairpin. The scalpel slices air. Walter Wentworth grabs my hair and throws me across the room. My head smashes into the hard wall. I draw back and slam the hairpin into the side of Walter's neck as he advances at a lumbering pace. The hairpin makes a sickening squishing sound and stays lodged.

The Tulsa Terror screams again, clutching at his neck and flailing around the room. The dial tone signaling that the phone is off the hook competes with the fire alarm, the two sirens filling my hospital room loud and clear. Coughing on the cloud of smoke that's engulfed the room I rush for the door. My fingers fumble with the lock, slick with blood, slipping over the hot knob, but I manage to get it open.

I step out into the hallway and say, "Christ."

The hallway's a furnace. An orange glow of flames lashes from a nearby room. The world spins and I resist the urge to vomit when I see what's out there. Three dead bodies in the hallway. Two nurses and a doctor. Face down on the ground, redness on the back of their stark white coats. My legs give out and I hit the ground. I hope my brothers are far away from here. I choke on smoke in the middle of the hallway. The sirens bleat their warning.

_The hospital's burning. I'll burn too if I don't get the hell out of here. _Unable to breathe, I try to think. I try to collect myself and think of Willy's words…

_Make sure you go down. Down, down where it's cool. _

My head jerks up. Ten feet away the elevator beckons. And a button. G. Ground Level.

The stairs.

I hear a soft shuffling. Something lands near my hands. Dumbly, I look down and realize it's the box of matches. _The Casablanca_ stares up at me. It's empty. The matchsticks all gone.

"I found a way," Walter lisps, limping out of the darkness. "To find you again."

_Fire_, my brain screams. He started the fire. My mother's words: _Go, Ponyboy. Go_.

As the lights flash, his monstrous face illuminated, the hairpin still in his neck, blood coating his throat, scalpel in his fist, I rally. I pull myself up and bolt for the stairs.

OoO

_Go, go, go…_

Ten floors to the ground level. I take the stairs at a dizzying pace, around and around I go, unable to tell how long it's been. I can't believe this is happening again. The never ending chase. I'm either going to die like this or I'm going to finish it. Tonight. The heat's following, clustering; I can feel it bleeding through the walls. My lungs burn. I think of the dead nurses. I pray to god it's not Kathy. _Please god_.

Stopping once to catch my breath, I wonder how he got out. The lack of security, his damn good luck, but know in the end it doesn't matter. It's out of control. Willy knew and it was going to happen. It's a slaughterhouse above me. The sirens are still going off; now a voice over the loudspeaker is calling for EVACUATION.

St. Joe's is going down.

OoO

It hurts but I do it. I slam my shoulder into the stairwell door and it sticks. "C'mon…c'mon, please," I urge but it doesn't budge. There's nowhere else to go. No other exit. I either go up to meet Walter Wentworth or out. A big green GROUND LEVEL is emblazoned on the front, mocking my failure. I can't stay here.

Drawing back, sucking in a hiss because I know it's going to hurt, I slam into the door with all the strength I have. I scream as my healing shoulder twinges, but the door opens and falling, I collapse across the floor.

I black out.

OoO

"Ain't goan make it out of the hospital in one piece, is you, My Boy?"

I rub my eyes. "This is a dream."

"Dat it is. Best dream you ever be havin."

"I don't know about that."

"Are you in a better place, My Boy?"

"Not yet. But hopefully soon."

"I left you something."

"Yeah. I heard about that. Thanks for the warning. What is it?"

"No, no, no. You know how it goes with me, My Boy. You have to—"

I wave him off. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I have to work for it." I evaluate Willy. Shackled and in a prison jumpsuit. "So what about you? Where are you, Willy?"

"Funny you should ask dat. Because I be in a better place too. Darker den yours I bet. But better in da end."

"Willy—"

Lights flash. I choke on smoke. Willy's gone.

OoO

"Oh Jesus…_oh, shit_…" I swear as I wake up, the dream disappearing into my subconscious. As much as I'd like to evaluate its meaning, a burning hospital is not the place to do it.

I roll on my back and take gulps of hot air. Willy was wrong. The smoke's down here too now. Clotting and clouding the enclosed space. My eyes focus as I sit up. I see a long hallway, whiteness all around, dark lit up by the flashing lights. I don't know how to get out of here. I can't see shit.

I stand, slapping at my scrubs. Except for the crackling sounds through the walls, it's quiet. I listen. There's clanging from the stairwell. Rushed footsteps. Slowly, I back away from the noise and turn in the opposite direction. I run, fast, faster than I ever have before, and then, before I can reach the end of the tunnel of white, my back cramps up. I hit my knees, and crumple in the middle of the hallway.

"_Shit_," I hiss. My legs are jelly, my stomach a ball of nerves. I catch my reflection in metal reflecting off of the vending machine. The iris of my left eye is blown out, black filling the entire space, no green. The face so white I barely recognize it as mine.

"No…" I squeeze my eyes shut, unwilling to cry. Dipping low, chest pressing the tops of my thighs, I cough into my hands and smear my face. I will my body to work.

"Don't do this. Not now. _Please, not now_."

A door opens. The squeak echoes throughout the hallway. Raising my face, I see a figure emerging from the darkness. I stiffen, afraid, ready to run, but then realize it's the man from my dream. Tall, broad-shouldered, safe…it's my dad but it's not my dad. It's—

"Darry?" I whisper. He pauses in the doorframe of the stairwell, unsure of who's there. He looks like a guard on watch. And when I see the profile, I know it's my brother. Rallying my voice, I holler, "Darry!"

"Ponyboy!" comes the strangled reply. Darry begins to run.

I grit my teeth. "_Go_," I say to myself, trying to push my aching body up on my fingertips. Darry shouts again. Somewhere inside, adrenaline kicks in. I'm up and I'm flying to my brother. I pump my arms and rush through the smoke.

Finally, I'm close. I launch myself into Darry's strong arms and he winds both of them around my neck, biceps bulging. He draws me in to his chest. Darry shakes. "Thank god," he says. "Thank god, I found you. Kiddo, we've been looking everywhere for y—I thought—oh my god, Ponyboy, I thought—"

I pull back, my voice haggard. There's no time. "Darry, he's here. He's down here. Walter, he—"

My brother's eyes move as there's movement in the darkness. Lit up by the strobes, Darry's soot-streaked face is a mask of anger. "Where?" he asks, through clenched teeth. "Where is he?"

"I don't know. I don't know where. He came to my room – Darry, people are dead up there…"

"I know, Ponyboy. I saw. The entire hospital's on lockdown."

"Jesus, Dar, but what—what in the hell are you doin down here?"

He gives me a look. "I told you…I wasn't leaving this hospital without you."

"How'd they let you in?"

"I didn't ask them," he says.

"Glory, you're really taking the Superman thing serious, ain't ya?"

"Ponyboy, I don't trust any of these cops or the goddamn doctors. I'd find you myself." Frowning, scrutinizing, Darry touches my face, tilting my chin back. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not as much as I hurt him."

There's a long pause as Darry chuckles and just shakes his head, a brief respite, but then it's broken as there's a thundering crash from somewhere in the hall. I jerk around. "Darry…he's coming. We gotta get out of here."

Sticking an arm across my chest, Darry backs me up, away from the noise in the hall. His whole body is rigid, alert. "Stay behind me, Ponyboy."

OoO

It's dark and we can't see where we're going. The flashing lights and the smoke smother the thin hallway. Darry leads the way, pushing forward, determined.

OoO

The coughing fit happens and I have to stop. Darry lowers me to the ground, kneeling beside me. "You have to breathe, Ponyboy. You got that? Shallow breaths, kiddo. C'mon…" He cups the side of my face and swears lowly. "Jesus, we're never going to get you better."

I let out a little laugh and shake my head. "I can't believe this, Darry. I can't believe this is happening again…"

"We're gonna get outta here," Darry says and helps me stand when I reach for him. We keep a steady pace down the hall, careful to keep away from the walls.

"Do you even know where we're going?" I ask as we take a corner.

"Maybe."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, Dar."

"I wouldn't let you down, Ponyboy."

I give him a smile. "I know that."

"I should've listened to you." At my look he says, "You thought Willy meant something bad was going to happen here. And it did. I never should've left you alone." Darry coughs and smears his face.

"Aw, Dar, you couldn't have known. And I never would have expected this." I give him a smile. "I kept dreaming about dad and it was you."

"I don't know about these dreams of yours, Ponyboy," Darry says, sounding tired. "They're enough to make me go gray."

"I thought you already were?"

This time he cracks a grin. "You're as bad as Sodapop." The smile dies. "It's been some story, Ponyboy."

"It's over tonight, Dar. Tonight I'm gonna knock it out."

Darry stops and turns around to face me. He looks like he wants to hug me but doesn't. "Whatever happens, you stay close to me, kiddo. Real close."

OoO

Winding us down corridors of the hospital's ground floor, Darry keeps a hearty pace. My eyes burn, sweat beads on Darry's forehead. His soft footsteps are swallowed up by the droning alarm. The hallway we come out of branches into two paths, one leading right and one left. Doors at each end. Darry goes left. I stay put, the buzz in my head throbbing. Nearing the door, Darry coughs into the crook of his arm once. It's getting harder to breathe. He glances over his shoulder.

"This way, Pone."

I stare at the door in front of me. Cock my head as I think I see the knob turn. "Darry…" I slowly begin, backing away. "There's someone—"

The door flies open.

OoO

I hear Darry shout but before I can do anything about it, Walter Wentworth is headed my way. He's still bleeding from the face and neck, greasy sweat running down his fat face. "I found you," he lisps and slices the scalpel in the air. Jumping back, I knock into the wall, but then dip and duck under his arm as he takes another swing. I come up behind him. I shoot my wild-eyed brother a look.

"Run, Ponyboy," Darry says, standing his ground. His hands are pulled into fists, his stance solid.

"No way," I say. Wentworth, in the middle of the hall loosely holding the scalpel, separates me and Darry.

"Mr. Curtis," Wentworth says to Darry. "I didn't think I'd see you. You were so nice to me. So nice."

"You didn't have to do this, Walter," Darry says, sounding pained, sounding like he's trying to talk someone down from jumping off a cliff. "Steve and I trusted you. You shouldn't have done what you did to those boys."

"It's a habit," Wentworth says, repeating what he's told me. I go to touch the stairwell doorknob but it's hot and burns my hand. Fire probably on the other side.

"Believe me," I say, looking for another way out. "It ain't a good one." Darry swears under his breath, no doubt wanting me to shut up.

Wentworth's eye rolls. He says to Darry, "Your brother's nice too." Backing up, towards me, he holds out the scalpel. The sharp point glistens and he jabs it. I hop back and find there's nowhere to go.

"You're the only one I couldn't fix."

"Walter," Darry says, taking a step forward. He has his hands out, voice calm. "Just put it down and get out of here. We ain't gonna stop you."

"But I haven't got what I wanted. I need it."

Darry's eyes flicker to me and then back to Walter. "Take one more step toward him and I'll put you out. You hear me?"

Walter licks his dry lips. I see the sickness in his eyes. It's going to go down here. It's going to end. I ready myself and as Darry moves closer it all happens fast. Walter lunges. Darry yells.

"I got you," Walter Wentworth says. He wraps a hand around my throat and slams me back into a vending machine, glass and metal groaning. I buck underneath his grip. He raises the scalpel. Letting out a scream, I rip the hairpin out of his neck and jam it deep into his side until it stops. Warm blood flows through my hand, down my fingertips. Surprised, he lets go of my throat, backs away, and drops the scalpel. He glances down at the hairpin. His face is an ugly shade of grey – probably from the blood loss.

"But –but I never got what I wanted…" Wentworth mutters.

I look at him. "Fuck you."

Lights flash and with a blur, Darry grabs Walter, slams a fist into his face and then shoves him across the hall. Walter sprawls across the floor like a fat blob. Kicking the scalpel underneath the vending machine, Darry grabs me. We both jump as somewhere down the hall a window implodes, flames jumping through it. In the harsh light of the hallway, Darry face is harried. "Ponyboy, we gotta—"

Then simultaneously, two things happen. Walter's slowly scraping himself off up the floor, when the stairwell door in front of us whips open and the police barge in. Still moving, insane with rage, Walter lets out a yell. The cops raise their guns and with all the commotion and the smoke, we're a blur.

"Jesus, Darry," I say, grabbing his bicep. "They don't see us, they're gonna shoot us."

My brother's mouth forms a curse. Moving forward, Darry waves his hands in the air trying to get their attention. The cops bawl out a warning to Walter Wentworth. Wentworth pulls the hairpin out of his side.

"Shit," I hear myself say. Then I hear Willy again: _You drag your bones to da ground, My Boy…drag da big one down. You get to a better place…"_

"Darry!" I shout. Wide-eyed, he turns.

Before the cops can fire, I dart forward, knocking into my brother with such force that I see spots. We both hit the ground. Shots ring out, flashing bursts of lightning. Dim commands echo throughout the hallway and this time I know Walter Wentworth will be dead. I clap hands over my ears to block the noise. Rolling my way, Darry throws his arms over my shoulders, pulling me close, into his body and shielding us from the noise. He says something I can't hear. But he keeps talking and he doesn't let go until the hallways is a mess of quiet and gunpowder.

OoO

The top five floors of the hospital burn. We watch all this from our spot near the back entrance of the hospital. "Tilt your head back. Go on and take a long deep breath," the paramedic instructs. Darry watches us, arms crossed, his own offer of an oxygen mask refused.

The paramedic asks Darry if I need to be admitted to the nearest clinic. "No way in hell," Darry says. "I'm taking my brother home tonight." He helps me stand when they're finished. "Let's go, kiddo."

I pad across the cool cement of the parking lot in bare feet and scrubs. "You okay, Pony?" Darry asks when I stop. He wraps a hand around the back of my neck. I glance up at the burning building. The cool air hits like a slap in the face and I realize it's finally over. Walter Wentworth's dead, the cops finishing the job. Willy Wiese's words, his tape, burning up in the fire. I wish I could have held onto those but I'll never forget them. Nine long months done with; crumbling to ash in the night sky. The stars are bright above.

"I just wanna go home," I say.

Darry gives me a smile. "Yeah, well, let's hope that's still standing." I follow his gaze.

Twenty feet away, Soda and Two-Bit are in the parking lot watching the flames leap from the hospital. Soda's pacing, Two-Bit just gawking. Kathy and Liz are next to them, hands pressed to their faces. Fire trucks, cops and reporters mill outside the front of St. Joe's. I see Nick jogging across the lot, a pen behind his ear, cigarette in his mouth.

We walk a few more paces and then Darry whistles – long and sharp. Heads swivel.

There's a loud yelp coming from Soda and then they're all running. Anticipating what's to come, I stick my arms out and Darry braces himself behind me. Soda flies into my arms, knocking me back into Darry's force field. He squeezes me tight, his body shaking, mumbling something over and over. Everyone's yelling, crying, laughing, all at once that I can't hear what's going on. I just know I'm going home and for that I'm so damn thankful.

OoO

_Yep. They had to have it out one last time._

_Last chapter is next. Sad to wrap it up but it's time. Thank you for all the reads and reviews. I never thought it'd get this big but thank you!_

_Oh, and just so you know…I am going to do a sequel to this. Not now but in a while. So maybe that will make you feel a bit better._

_After this…I'm thinking sequel to Esoterically Yours._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	37. A Finish

_It's over. Sob._

_SE Hinton owns these great characters that I have lovingly borrowed/tortured._

A Finish

OoO

"Nightmare?"

I jump and spin around. "Glory, you scared the hell outta me, Sodapop."

"Sorry, kiddo." He looks at me with questioning eyes. I take a quick sip from the glass of water and turn the faucet off.

The kitchen is dark, lit up in that blue light of the nighttime. "I couldn't sleep. It ain't the nightmares…it's just…I can't sleep. I lie in bed and stare at the stupid ceiling."

Soda nods. He gets it. Nights are the worse. During the day I'm busy, wear myself out so I can't think. At night that's all I do. My ceiling reminds me of a hospital room and I keep hearing Walter Wentworth's goddamn giggle.

It's been a week since St. Joe's burned. The lower floors are running, the top under construction. Luckily, Kathy still has a job. As for me, I have no idea what I'm going to do. But that's not on Darry's list of high priorities. All he's done is boss me around and make me stay home.

"It'll get better," Soda says, giving me a soft smile.

"I'm sorry I got you involved with this," I tell him. I set the glass on the counter and prop myself up with a hand. "I really am, Soda."

"Don't be," he says. "You're such a goddamned stubborn kid, Ponyboy, but you were right. You helped those boys and you solved the case. You really did it."

Soda crosses the kitchen and squeezes my arm. In the dark of the kitchen, his eyes are black. He lets out a laugh. "Just don't ever do it again, you hear me?"

OoO

A day later, Nick lugs over all our notebooks and files from the Tulsa World. He dumps them on the porch and we stare at them. "Got a match?" he asks.

OoO

We're sitting on the floor of the porch, paper strewn everywhere. A light spring breeze wafts across the neighborhood. We're going through articles, cleaning out files, dumping papers into black garbage bags, when Nick stops. "So were you serious, Curtis?"

"Serious about what?"

"About that book idea of yours? Or were you just too hopped up on drugs in the hospital to know what you were sayin?"

"Yeah, I am serious," I say slowly. "No one really knows the story. I think we could do something with it."

The Tulsa Terror story is still on the news. There's so much press coverage on TV that Darry doesn't watch the news at night. None of us can. I can't stand seeing the photos of me plastered alongside Walter Wentworth. The Tulsa World isn't as bad, so luckily Darry still has his paper. I've turned down more interviews than I can count. A few reporters had camped out at our place after we arrived home from the hospital but Liz had put an end to that pretty quick.

"What're we going to call our book?" Nick asks, a smile on his face. "The boy who burned down St. Joe's?"

"Oh that's goddamn hilarious, Nick." I roll my eyes but laugh. "So what do you really think?"

"I think I'm in, is what I think. You know, Curtis…" Nick says. "If this story didn't kill you, I don't think you're ever going to die. You got nine damn lives, man." He balls up a black and white article and dunks it in a plastic bag.

"Maybe…but I don't want to take any chances. I'm lying low for at least a year."

Nick raises a brow.

"For sure six months. Definitely three."

"Right," he snorts. "I'll believe it when I see it." Nick swivels his head and whistles. "The Big One, two o'clock."

"What's goin' on?" Darry asks, coming up the drive.

"Just plotting our next move," Nick interjects.

I hold up a hand. "A job, Darry. I need a job."

"It's been two weeks. Relax, kiddo."

"I can't. I'm bored." I shoot him a grin. "Besides, I can't keep moochin' off you and Liz."

Darry groans. "Ponyboy, I'm going to chain you to the back porch."

OoO

My brother comes to me later that night. "So you gonna let me in on what you're planning next or am I going to find out about it the hard way?" He keeps his tone light but his voice is wary, pained.

I say, "Dar, I ain't gonna do anything. I'm going to get a job and stay put."

Something like surprise crosses his face. "You're going to stay in Tulsa?" I make room and he sits on the edge of the couch.

"Sure I am. Looks like you're gonna be stuck with me for a bit." I give him a sorry smile. "Listen, I'm sure you want me to go back to school, but I—"

"I don't care about that, Ponyboy," Darry says. He shakes his head slowly. "I don't anymore. It doesn't matter. I'm just real glad you're staying here. I don't want you being away from us again."

"I don't want to be away either. I miss you guys too much."

He puts a hand on the back of my neck, his palm warm. Darry clears his throat. "I'm glad you're okay, Ponyboy. I'm glad you're here."

"Me too."

OoO

I'm out in the backyard, deciding to make myself useful by doing some yard work while both my brother's are at actual jobs, when a familiar car pulls up along the curb. The driver's side facing the yard, I wave at Stubs, grip the rake.

He doesn't get out, instead letting the car idle.

The passenger side door opens and there's Flora.

OoO

"Oh, Ponyboy, I'm so sorry," she says in a soft papery voice. "I was mean. I shouldn't have said what I said."

"You don't have to apologize. You were right. I was a bad friend. I should have called Marie back. Being busy wasn't an excuse."

She loops her fingers around the fence post. Her hair's long and stick-straight, a gold locket around her neck. She jams a hand into her pocket and pulls out a lollipop. She starts chewing on it.

"You aren't still sick are you?" She bites her lip. "Stubs said you were in the hospital."

"I'm better now."

Her face lights up as she smiles. "You solved it. I read about that."

"I did."

"I'm really proud of you, Ponyboy."

"Thanks." I smile at her. "How'd you get out of Cherry Hills? What're you doin here?"

Flora's brown eyes narrow. She takes the lollipop out of her mouth. "I came here to see you, dummy."

"Oh, well, I—"

She kisses me, quick and fast. It's better than Rosie's. Sweeter, too. Drawing back, she leaves grape-flavored sugary stickiness on my lips. She pops the lollipop back in.

"I checked myself out. I have to take some pills and these to help—" She upturns her pockets and about 20 lollipops land on the grass. "But my doctor says I can do it. I just have to try hard to not eat…rocks and stuff."

I laugh and she says, "So I was thinking…now that I'm here…we could hang out…"

I feel my face get hot. "Yeah, I'd really like th—"

A loud honk sounds out and we both jump. Stubs sticks his arm out of his rolled-down window. His bushy eyebrows are raised in exasperation. "Come on you two, this is worse than watching paint dry. Jesus!"

I give him the bird. Giggling, Flora buries her head against my chest.

OoO

Two-Bit's at the house as much as anyone. Today, he comes over, bags full of McDonald's burgers; I glance up from the want ads.

"How goes the search?"

I put my red pen down and groan. "I never want to make another circle again." The paper beside me is filled with half-hearted circled jobs that probably won't amount to anything.

"Never fear, I have brought the fuel that has fueled many a man." Two-Bit starts slinging burgers and sets a six-pack on the table.

I grin and lean back in my chair. "Guess what came in the mail today?"

"A baby monkey?"

"No."

"Buried treasure."

"Nope."

"A Samurai sword?"

"Close." Reaching over, I grab the pile of mail, and unearth an opened envelope. I pull out the switchblade. "The cops sent this back. Guess they don't need it for evidence anymore."

It figures they'd mail it to me. Too ashamed to face us after the debacle in the basement, especially after Darry had threatened to sue them for nearly shooting us, they've been keeping their distance. Especially now that the case is wrapped up.

Two-Bit takes it and turns it carefully over in his hands. "Best present I ever bought." He hands it back. "You keep it on you."

"Rest of my life," I say.

"Shit, kid, you had us all running scared."

"Hell, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't."

He chuckles and slaps a burger on the table. "Eat and shut up, Ponyboy."

OoO

"Hey, Pony," Liz says, waving me over to the window. She's trying not to smile. "You might want to see this…"

I go and gawk. Steve Randle is pulling my Ranchero into the driveway. There's no trace of where Walter Wentworth had rammed it with the bucket truck and in addition, it's now painted a glossy black.

"I don't believe him," I say, rolling my eyes, though I'm surprised at Steve's undertaking. "Ain't he got stuff to do at the shop with Darry?"

"He's been great," Liz says, crossing her arms. We both watch as Steve climbs out and shouts at two kids playing football across the street. "Helping you out at the hospital and now this…"

"Wait, what about the hospital?"

Her eyes get big. "I thought someone had told you….Pony, Steve was the only one who was a blood match. When you needed a transfusion, he gave it up."

I stare out the window. Steve now has the football and throws it into another yard. Scowling, the kids chase after it.

"No," I say, stunned. "No one told me." So that's what he meant at the hospital, when he said he wasn't helping me again. Why he was so pissed I was running around chasing Walter.

"Just don't tell him thank you," Liz says. "I think that's the last thing he wants."

We pull away from the window as Steve stalks inside. He stops and glances at us. "What?"

"Car looks like shit," I tell him. "What's with the color?"

"Easier on the eyes than that shitty orange thing you were driving around."

"I liked the orange."

"Yeah, well, you like a lot of stupid things." Steve throws me the keys. He smirks. "Get a job, kid."

OoO

It's been a long time since we've all done this. I think back and realize the last time we were all together in a happy situation was Two-Bit's bachelor party. It's been even longer without anything hanging over all our heads.

Sadie's is busy and rough. The jukebox pumps music. A small TV in the corner behind the bar.

Squeezing my way through the crowd, I mosey up to the bar. Behind me, everyone is playing a game of pool. I shout at the bartender, wait my turn, and then that's when I see it on TV.

"Hey," I shout. "Can you turn that up?"

"Listen, buddy, I don't know—" The bartender's eyes get wide. "Hey, you're that kid, ain't you? The one who—"

Without waiting, I pull myself up, and crawl across the bar, kicking beer bottles everywhere. Someone curses but no one stops me. I hop behind the bar. I get close to the TV and turn up the volume.

"Christ, what the fuck, Curtis? You trying to get us kicked out of here?" Nick's asking, suddenly beside me. "What in the hell are you—Oh, holy shit."

On TV they're showing token footage of the Miami skyline, Ocean Boulevard and the nightclubs in downtown Miami. Then there's a shot of her. Rosie. She's getting out of a Cadillac, helped by a man in black. He wraps an arm around her shoulders. Wearing huge sunglasses and a fur coat, she dabs at her face with a tissue.

The announcer says, "The death of Vincenzo Trafficante is a shock to many. Gunned down by an unknown assailant two nights ago, investigators are still working to determine those responsible…Trafficante leaves behind his only surviving child Rosalie Trafficante…"

The screen shows a close up of Rosie, old, grainy footage. In a robe, she's on a balcony, smoking. She waves at the camera. Gives her trademark snake-like smile.

"Rosalie Trafficante is now the sole heir to the Trafficante fortune. And as many others speculate she now inherits her father's mob-related ties…. Nothing has ever been proven but sources say…"

"C'mere." Roughly, Nick and I are jerked out of the bar and pulled away by Darry. "You two are idiots," he snaps and storms off.

I look at my friend. "She killed him. She killed Vinny. She killed her goddamn father."

Nick says, "If I puke right here and now, you won't tell anyone about it, will you?"

Steve Randle saunters up. He slings an arm around my shoulder, eyes dark and curious. "So _that's_ your girl, huh, kid?"

OoO

April rolls into May.

It's not much but I get a job at a busy record store downtown. I need something fast-paced, to take my brain away from whatever I want to think about. From that itch. I still feel it brewing, but I vow to keep it down as long as I can. For myself. I need to.

It's slow but Nick and I start outlining our book. We have no idea where we're going to go with it but it's a project. I'm writing _something_, so I'll take it.

Darry and Steve's business thrives. They keep the Lake Elmo account. Initially, Darry felt guilty about taking it because of Walter Wentworth's connection but Soda and I had talked him into it. And every time I drive by the Curtis Construction sign, instead of thinking about The Tulsa Terror, I think of how proud I am of my brother.

I don't hear from Max. He's still at the Tulsa World, publishing those gory stories he loves. I wonder who he'll sucker into taking my spot.

I still dream about Willy, but they're not as in-depth as they had been in the hospital. More like bursts of conversation and flashes of light. I still can't tell whether Willy was the best or worst thing that ever happened to me.

I can run again. I practice three times a week and I'm fast. The buzz in my head still sounds on off days and my back still gives a tweak but I'm better now. I'm whole.

Like Marie said, everything heals.

OoO

It's like working in a library except I'm shelving records alphabetically instead of books. I find a spot for the Rolling Stones and shelve it, sliding the thin album between two others. Door chimes jungle, music blasting over the speakers.

A voice comes out of nowhere. "Ponyboy Curtis?"

I turn. A man in a brown bomber jacket and jeans stands behind me. He's maybe in his late 40s with a grizzled beard and shaggy salt and pepper hair. He looks too sloppy to be associated with Rosie so I relax. But he looks out of place in the record store.

"Yeah, that's me." He doesn't say anything, instead looking me over. "What do you want, man? You with the press?"

"In a way. I'm Richard Jaax. I'm with the Washington Post."

"I ain't giving interviews. If you want something, do your own research."

"I don't want an interview," he says gruffly. "I'm here to offer you a job."

"What?"

"Saw your earlier articles. Been keepin up with you and your writing. Know you just got done with one hell of a story and I'm wondering why I haven't read it yet."

"Maybe one day." I give him a slight smile. "I ain't doin' that no more."

"Seems a real shame to give that up."

"Yeah…well…not now."

"Okay, kid. Okay. We all need a break now and then. I get that. But listen…" Jaax reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a business card. I stare at it. "The offer is always open if you change your mind. Washington D.C. is a better place. Better than Tulsa."

"I like Tulsa."

"I'm sure you do. Listen, you ever need anything, you call me."

"Why would I need anything from you?"

Jaax grins. "I heard you were a pain in the ass." He extends an arm. "You never know when you need connections. People to help you out. The world's a big place." He shakes the business card. "Consider this an IOU. Go on. Take it."

I do.

OoO

The papers are spread across the floor of my bedroom. Even the outline of the story is a mess. I sit back and smear my hair. I have no idea how I'm going to do this. When I think about it, really think about it, it's too soon for me to write this. I need time to get over it.

Soda opens the door, Darry behind him. "What's all this?" Soda asks. "A story?"

I extend my legs and flop down, leaning back against the side of the bed. "Well, it _was_ gonna be a story. Ain't too sure about it now."

Soda sits next to me and picks up a page. Reads it. He looks at me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I had the bright idea to write a book." I shrug. "Or something."

Darry has his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and is leaning in the doorway. "If that's what you want to do, Pony, you should do it."

"I will," I say. "Just not…now. I can't right now."

Soda slings an arm around my shoulders and laughs. "Don't forget about us when you're a famous writer, you hear?" Darry chuckles.

I smile. Look at my brothers. Feel the warmth of my bedroom. My home.

"No. Never."

OoO

A football flies through the house. Liz yelps and spills a vat of barbecue sauce on the kitchen floor. "Soda," she shouts. "I'm this close to siccing Darry on you!"

Soda bounds in, grabbing a rag. "Sorry, Liz. I got it."

Two-Bit and Kathy come in the back door, followed by Bradley Miles. "I wanted to make you a banner, Ponyboy," Two-Bit says. "But Kathy wouldn't let me."

Kathy rolls her eyes. "I don't think Darry would like a banner that said, 'Congratulations on Your Nine Lives, Ponyboy Curtis'."

I laugh and go say hi to Brad. He smiles shyly and starts telling me about school.

The house is nuts. We're redoing Darry and Steve's party, as well as having a "Welcome Home" party for me, courtesy of Two-Bit. It's spring, the weather's warm, all the doors in the house are open. Soda and Steve keep flying through them and tossing the football. Darry's out back manning the grill.

"Where's your woman, Ponyboy?" Two-Bit asks, sidling up to me and Brad.

I redden. "She's coming later."

Kathy laughs. "You mind your manners around her, Two-Bit. You can't scare her off just yet."

"You can bet your pretty ass I'm going to try."

Bradley laughs. I rub my eyes.

OoO

I hand Darry a beer as he prods burgers with the tongs. Nick's here, blabbering on about his part-time job at the state fair, while everyone else is on the porch drinking beers and messing with the radio. I glance down the street for any sign of Flora.

"How'd we get stuck cooking?" Darry asks me.

"You scare everyone away from the grill." Darry barks out a laugh and flips a patty.

There's a whistle and then, "You ready for me to make a man outta you, Ponyboy Curtis?" Steve, walking over to us, slams the football into his palm.

I shake my head and Nick says to me, "I got a trunk with his name on it."

"Come on," Steve says. "Go long."

"Easy, Steve," Darry says.

I give my worried brother a grin and hustle to the sidewalk. Steve retreats, draws his arm back and then lets the ball snap. It sails through the sky, a longer throw than I had anticipated. Adrenaline kicking in, I bolt into the street, narrowly missing colliding with a Corvair. Shouts come from the porch, but ignoring them, I jump and catch the ball, taking a tumble on the neighbor's front lawn.

I hop up and wave the ball. Darry shakes his head and points the tongs Steve, his words mute from where I am far across the street but I know Steve's getting his ass chewed out. Nick gives me two thumbs up.

The wind rustles and that's when I notice the man walking toward me. His face is blank, eyes pale. "Ponyboy Curtis?"

"That's me."

"I was told to deliver you this." He shows me an envelope. "On this day."

"What is it?" I ask, taking it.

"From a Willy Wiese and that's all I know." He turns on his heel and walks back the direction he came.

Holding my breath, I slide a finger under the flap and open the envelope. I pull out a loose piece of notebook paper. I read fast. Breath hitches in my throat. I blink, surprised.

Soda's standing on the porch now, watching. He calls my name, taking my attention. He tells me to come back. To come home. I see my house and my brothers. I give him a quick nod, silently telling him I'll be there.

I fold the paper up and stick Willy's words in my pocket.

OoO

_The end! _

_Wrapped up…but not too tight. Now you gotta wait for the sequel._

_ACK! Ok, so I cannot seriously thank everyone who read and reviewed and even those who didn't. This story took on a life of its own and I thank you for coming along with it. Whew. Just know, after every chapter posted, I looked forward to your reviews. They were like a nice little present after writing. I so, so appreciate it._

_Anywho…I WILL write another story. But I actually need to focus on my REAL book for once. It's in the 2__nd__ draft so I need a few months to do that. To those of you who have asked or mentioned, yes, I actually do write short stories that are published, I'm not just lazing around FF. Haha. This is just a fun hobby…and as long as people are reading I'll write. _

_I'm sure I'll be around with a few one-shots…and a longer story in late spring. _

_Ok, so now that I rambled like a mofo…I thank you again._

_Thank you._

_XO_

_Feisty_


End file.
